Act One: Of Dark Lords and Orphans
by Darren Jaguar
Summary: Harry Potter is no ordinary 11 year-old. He is a wizard, and as he goes to Hogwarts School for the first year of his magical education, the lives of everyone around him will change forever... As one would expect. But he does not face the approaching dangers alone...
1. Here We Go Again

**ACT ONE: Of Dark Lords and Orphans**

**CHAPTER ONE: HERE WE GO AGAIN**

"He can't have put up _that_ much of a fight; he's only a kid…"  
"... said You-Know-Who as he walked over to the cot."  
_Prophecies, Secrets and Lies__, Shinysavage_

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_**Wednesday 31**__**st**__** July, 1991**_

"Get out here boy, it's time!"

Harry rubbed sleep from his eyes. He'd been up late, and now he was paying the consequences. A glance at the alarm clock in the corner, visible thanks to phosphorescent hands, showed that it was the late morning, about eleven or so. He'd slept in on his birthday, and the candles placed around the small room had long since died out. He reached for his glasses that lay on the floor beside the mattress, unfolding the arms and slipping them on.

Stretching, he hit his arms on the underneath of the stairs, then reached out to pull the cord attached to the light. The cupboard under the stairs lit up with dim, yet harsh white light from a hanging low-energy bayonet light-bulb. The mattress he had been lying on was crumpled, a couple of books splayed out nearby, a propelling pencil lying on top of one of them. Naturally, said books were covered in notes, drawings and diagrams written with the pencil. The cupboard itself was deceptively large, containing not only a mattress but also shelves full of books and various objects, from an old-fashioned broom leaning in the corner to a small pile of large, golden coins. Despite the annoying presence of a fuse board, and with the cosiness of the candles, it could be a particularly nice place to relax and read, particularly for an eleven year-old boy. Then again, Harry was not a typical eleven year-old boy.

Harry pulled two bookmarks from a pile in the corner and closed the books, leaving them atop the mattress, before getting up. He was still small enough to be able to stand in the relatively cramped space, for which he was glad. He pushed open the door, running a hand through his hair and hoping it'd stay in some resemblance of order. In vain, as he'd learnt from experience that his jet black locks could never be cut, nor controlled.

"Hurry up, boy!" came his uncle's voice once more.

Harry James Potter Evans lived with his aunt and uncle, Petunia (née Evans) and Vernon Dursley, along with his cousin Dudley. His parents were killed in nasty circumstances when he was one year-old, and he was sent to live with his nearest and only relatives, the Dursleys. Now the Dursleys lived at Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging. An uninteresting little place in Surrey, built in the post-war period, and the street was filled with identical box-like houses. A perfect little suburb, yet absolutely banal. Harry had always been thankful for his monumental stack of books, as there was bugger all to do in Little Whinging.

He stumbled into the kitchen, still bleary from his quick awakening, and encountered a plate piled with a classic "Full English", sitting in front of an empty chair. The others were already sat and ready to begin. Petunia Dursley smiled at Harry. "I know you love cooking, but it's my turn today," she explained. Harry grinned back in thanks, and sat down, and they all tucked in. Petunia had really gone for this breakfast no holds barred: sausages, bacon, egg, black pudding, tomatoes, mushrooms, fried potato slices, baked beans, even fried bread (which she tended to frown upon, due to the high fat content). He dolloped some brown sauce onto the side of his plate with a look of glee, beginning to mix it into his baked beans.

"I wonder when it's going to turn up," commented Vernon with a raised eyebrow. Harry shrugged in return; and as if on command, a small bird swooped into the kitchen through the open window. The owl had a letter strapped to its leg, and the family smiled in anticipation. Harry detached the letter, putting some bits of sausage onto the table for the bird to eat, and broke the wax seal on the envelope. He slid out two pieces of old-fashioned parchment with a look of pure glee lighting up his face.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Harry Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1__st__ September. We await your confirmation owl by no later than 15__th__ August._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress_

Of course, such a letter might have surprised some, but Harry had been expecting it, and had been waiting for it for the past four years with growing anticipation.

Harry was a wizard, capable of performing magic with the use of a wand, given schooling. His parents before him had been wizards too: his father from a long-running noble family, the Potters, and his mother from a family of Muggles – that is to say, non-magical folk like you and I. As such, Harry was what most wizards would refer to, often in a derogatory manner, as a "halfblood".

However Harry was far more than the average wizard. His parents had been killed on Halloween 1981, a year and three months after Harry's birth, in what was known in Great Britain as the "Second Wizarding War" by a sadistic, insane wizard named Lord Voldemort, who had caused so much death and destruction that his mere name struck fear into the hearts of wizardkind; as such, he was referred to as "You-Know-Who" or "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named". But the Dark Lord's plan to conquer the British Isles was thwarted on that fateful night by Harry himself.

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

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_**Saturday 31**__**st**__** October, 1981**_

Sirius Black drew his wand from his right sock as he approached the wreckage of a house. It was Halloween in the idyllic village of Godric's Hollow, Devon, and he would think it were snowing, were it not for the fact that the house before him were burning. The Muggle neighbours probably thought it was snowing, as the house was covered with a Muggle-Repelling Ward, a spell that had stopped them from noticing it for the past two or so years. Though Sirius wasn't sure the Ward would have survived the destruction of the house, as it was tied into the very foundations of the building.

He walked carefully down the garden path, well-kept flowerbeds to each side contrasting with the destruction before him. Wand raised and at the ready, he stepped over the burning remains of the front door, which had been blasted clean off the hinges. A tear swept down his cheek as he beheld the limp, lifeless body of James Potter, his best friend. He quivered in anger and sorrow, but kept on his guard. Even though Voldemort hadn't conjured the Dark Mark – his symbol, a giant floating skull circled by a snake, which he cast into the sky whenever he killed someone – Sirius knew to expect anything. Maybe it was a trap. The shaggy-haired wizard cast a hasty Shield Charm in anticipation.

He took a few cautious steps up the staircase, before steeling himself and rushing up. He knew he had no chance against a wizard as powerful as the Dark Lord, but the least he could do was try his very hardest to avenge James.

So far, the inside of the house was relatively intact: save the destroyed door and a few scorch marks in the kitchen from James and Voldemort's duel, there was very little damage. Then he followed the breeze, stepping towards the bedroom with the door labelled _Harry_.

There was no longer a roof. The wind blew freely around, threatening to put out the small flames licking at the walls. The wooden floorboards were almost untouched by the fire, and there was a neat circle of floor undamaged and free of debris. Within the circle lay Lily Potter Evans, dead like her husband, and Sirius growled. He remained on the alert as he stepped towards the centre of the circle, towards the cot. He beheld the bundle of cloth, seeing young Harry. Another tear slid down his cheek, and he spun around to check the rest of the house for Voldemort.

A soft giggle.

Sirius twirled on the spot, wand raised and a spell on the tip of his tongue, ready to let loose his grief and fury. But he realised, in that second, that it was Harry. His godson, who was unharmed, save a fresh cut on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt.

He dashed over to the crib, and gathered the baby up in his arms. Tears swept down his cheeks, tears of joy. He raised his wand to cast the Patronus Spell, sending a message to his greatest ally. A soft _pop_ not a minute later announced Albus Dumbledore's arrival, and Sirius murmured, not turning back.

"He's alive, Albus. Harry's alive."

The older wizard nodded, before raising his wand to cast a diagnostic spell. He muttered the incantation, then raised an eyebrow at the results. "The Killing Curse was cast twice in this room. Both hit their targets."

Sirius nearly dropped Harry. "What? If two people died here, where's Voldemort? Did Lily kill him?"

Dumbledore bent down to pick up Lily Potter's wand that lay beside her and ran another test on it, to reveal the previously cast spells. "As I suspected... Lily did not cast the Killing Curse. Her last spell was a Cleaning Charm."

Harry only just avoided being dropped again. "Then who..." Sirius began, before spotting a stick on the floor, near the edge of the circle of non-devastation. Dumbledore followed his gaze, and strode over to pick the wand up. "Oh shit," the wizened wizard said uncharacteristically. Sirius had known him since his schooldays, when Albus had been his Headmaster, but even when he was at his worst he had never heard the man swear. Dumbledore ran the previous-spell test once more.

"Albus?"

"This is Voldemort's wand, with which he cast two Killing Curses. Merlin..."

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure," Dumbledore _growled_, "I need to do some research. Now."

Before Sirius had the time to speak, Dumbledore had disappeared in a soft _pop_, teleporting away to his office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He didn't want to stay much longer in the house in which two of his best friends had died; he turned on the spot and disappeared with a slightly louder _pop_, his godson in his arms.

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_**Wednesday 31**__**st**__** July, 1991**_

With a delighted grin Harry discarded the second parchment – he knew that it only contained a list of what he would need to acquire in order to attend the school. That is to say robes, potion-making equipment and a wand, as he had obtained – and read at least twice over – the necessary books already. All four inhabitants of the house were happy, and they made light talk about the letter over breakfast. It was a little later that morning that there came a knock on the door.

Harry rushed to the door, yanking it open to be caught in an ambush hug from his godfather.

"_Harry_ birthday!" Sirius roared as he rubbed his godson's head with his knuckles.

"Surely you can't be Sirius..."

The shaggy-haired man chuckled, "If only you knew how many times I've heard _that_ one. Oh, and don't call me Shirley. Let's get inside then."

Harry led his godfather through to the kitchen, where the shaggy-haired man greeted Petunia and Dudley with a hug – and Vernon with a "manly handshake". He was soon sat down with a cup of tea, his present lying on the table. The way it was wrapped made it look like a thin jumper or some sort of piece of clothing. Vernon disappeared into the living room, returning shortly with three other packages, one from each member of the family.

Harry had always liked his family's birthday celebrations – never anything too complicated, and never too many presents; and the few that they exchanged were almost always practical. At the four others' urging, he tore open Dudley's present first, to reveal a flat box labelled "_Broomstick Care Kit_". He let out a squeal of delight and hugged his cousin, wondering how on Earth he'd managed to acquire it, before moving onto the rest. Petunia's present was a book on etiquette, as Harry had already mentioned that it'd be a good idea for him to learn some respectful manners, as one could be sure that mastery of flattery and comportment would be necessary later in life – particularly when faced with the more aristocratic wizard families. Vernon's was a stack of boxer shorts ("To be perfectly honest, I couldn't think of anything; and pants are one of the most useful things you'll ever have, boy") and Sirius' turned out to be a piece of strange, silky fabric that seemed to reflect – no, _displace_ the light, in a very odd manner.

"I got this off Albus for you. It's not really a present, as it is actually yours, but here it is nonetheless," his godfather explained.

"Actually mine? What is it, anyway?"

"It belonged to your father, so it's now yours. Albus had borrowed it to study it, and forgot to give it back. It's called a Cloak of Invisibility. Three guesses as to what it does," Sirius added with a wink.

"Oh, so it keeps you warm?" Harry suggested.

They all laughed as Sirius cuffed his godson around the back of the head.

"He let me give it to you as long as I urged that you not use it to break any rules..."

Harry snorted, "I'd like to see _you_ try to forbid me from breaking rules, you Marauder."

When he was at Hogwarts, Sirius had been part of a band of friends who broke the rules from time to time – "from time to time", of course, meaning "all of the time". The "Marauders", that is to say Sirius, James Potter and a couple of other friends, had been the scourge of Hogwarts during their time there.

"Ok, you got me," his godfather grinned, "Just don't get caught doing it."

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_**Friday 24**__**th**__** July, 1987**_

Drip, drip, drip.

Screams echoing down the long corridors. Constant drip of water, slowly driving the man insane.

Drip, drip, drip.

A guard strolled past the prisoner's cell, keys clanking as he went.

Drip, drip, drip.

He began to shiver as the unearthly creatures that ensured his imprisonment and torture approached once more.

Drip, drip, drip.

Dementors, unnatural wraiths seeking to feed upon happy thoughts and memories, causing anguish amongst even the greatest of wizards.

Drip, drip, drip.

The cold was getting harsher and harsher as three, four of the foul creatures congregated before his bars.

Drip, drip, drip.

The Dementors drifted onwards, and the unnaturally cold depression faded as the human guard approached once more.

Drip, drip, clank.

Keys rolled in the lock, and the man shot up straight. It wasn't time for a meal, and it sure wasn't a visitor, as visitors weren't allowed in the prison of Azkaban. The guard stepped into the cell and offered a hand, which the man took, and was pulled to his feet. Silently he was led out of the cell, through the drab, dark corridors of black stone, and through a series of doors, before reaching a warm guardroom.

"You are being released," the as yet silent guard murmured. The prisoner raised an eyebrow, then his face lit up in joy as it sunk in. He was offered a chair, and the guard pulled a cloth sack from a nearby cupboard.

"Your personal affects when arrested." His wand, a handful of coins, motorbike keys and house keys, along with some clothes he knew to have been soaked in sweat, blood and ash when he last wore them. When the guard handed his wand over, he set fire to the clothes with a muttered incantation. He felt a wave of joy at having his wand again, and using magic once more after those four long years, and the guard smiled back at him.

"I also have a small letter for you from your advocate," he added, handing over a piece of parchment.

_Sorry I couldn't come, Wizengamot business. I've had Kreacher prepare a meal for you at Grimmauld Place, and it promises to be a veritable feast. Surprisingly, he is warming to you._

_Take care._

The prisoner grinned, happy that his greatest ally had managed to not only release him, but also have a meal ready for him. Damn, that man was good. He thanked the guard and quickly left the room, heading outside towards the docks, so as to escape that godforsaken island once and for all. Once beyond the wards preventing magical teleportation, and within sight of an exterior guard, Sirius Black turned on the spot and disappeared with a soft _pop._

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_**Wednesday 31**__**st**__** July, 1991**_

"...then we'll head to pick you some more books up, alright?"

Harry nodded. His godfather's plan to take him shopping for the few remaining things on his school list seemed fine. They'd head to Diagon Alley – a hidden street in the centre of London, inhabited by wizards – on Friday, to pick up the last requirements on the list. Namely, a wand and some robes. It also seemed that Harry was in luck, as they'd be taking a trip to a bookshop... Sirius didn't seem to realise what he was getting himself into, taking the boy around a bookshop. And the man would probably have to pay for _and _carry the books. Harry rubbed his hands together mischievously, Petunia and Vernon looking at each other with a worried expression on their faces.

Best. Birthday. Ever. Now all he needed were an evil goatee and a cat to stroke. Mwahahahahaha.

"Er, Harry?"

It then occurred to the eleven year-old that he'd actually laughed evilly out loud, judging by the strange expressions on his family's faces. Sirius laughed, and it soon proved contagious.

"An evil laugh isn't very becoming of the Boy-Who-Lived," teased his godfather, who narrowly avoided the orange that his godson threw in retaliation.

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_**Monday 10**__**th**__** November, 1980**_

In the centre of London, far underneath the streets, deep beneath the Underground lines, lay the Department of Mysteries of the Ministry of Magic, research centre for the magical government of Great Britain. All sorts of strange experiments took place here, and the actual Department was incredibly vast, covering over ten acres of underground chambers.

Deep within one of these deserted chambers lay a device, resembling a sort of seismograph. A roll of paper in the centre, attached to a needle and what looked like a typewriter. The paper was as yet blank, and the only sign that the magical device was activated was the small, green light bulb at the top.

Suddenly, at about 10 AM, the light changed colour, flashing between deep cobalt blue and bright pink. There was a _whirr_ as the needle shot up and down the roll, marking fluctuations in... something, whatever the machine studied. No-one was nearby to watch, at the time. The roll shot through the typewriter, which began tapping letters and numbers onto the sheet. _Fluctuation, reception, 1002-10-11-1980 ,Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland._

The machine suddenly dropped back into its dormant state, before jerking to life once more, a minute later. _Fluctuation, reception, 1003-10-11-1980, Department of Mysteries, England._ The small explosive device that had suddenly burst into existence next to the device beeped once, before obliterating the roll of information and lightly damaging the graph – not beyond repair, but simply enough that there be no record left whatsoever. Smoke drifted upwards from the device, and the light faded out.

That morning would prove to be a strange morning indeed for the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

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**A/N:** Well, this has been in the works for a long time. I can't even remember what I was going to write here. :)


	2. Translate What You Said

**ACT ONE: Of Dark Lords and Orphans**

**CHAPTER TWO: Translate What You Said On The Opposite Page**

Calling out _Letter for Hogwarts!_ whilst holding an envelope high in the air in the middle of your own backyard was... actually pretty embarrassing, now that he thought about it.  
_No. I'm better than Dad. I will use the scientific method even if it makes me feel stupid._  
"Letter -" Harry said, but it actually came out as more of a whispered croak.  
Harry steeled his will, and shouted into the empty sky, "_Letter for Hogwarts! Can I get an owl here?_"  
_Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality__, Less Wrong_

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_**Monday 17**__**th **__**September, 1979**_

Albus Dumbledore sighed with relief as the house disappeared from his sight. The Fidelius Ward had worked as he had hoped, and he now felt the huge wave of fatigue resulting from its casting. Amazing piece of magic, the Fidelius Ward. With it, one could hide away objects, buildings, even entire _islands_ (given enough power). In this case, he had hidden Lily and James Potter's house. As long as they were in the house, no-one could harm them or even perceive their very _existence_, save those who knew the Secret.

Theoretically you could happen to know the exact coordinates of the house _before_ the Fidelius took effect, and call in an airstrike on the location, but it wouldn't even touch the house, because the bombs _themselves_ would need to be aware of the existence of a house, which they couldn't, not being sentient in any way. Makes sense? Not really. It was difficult magical theory, and _even_ Albus, the greatest wizard in the British Isles, struggled with it. An amazing piece of magic. Baffling in its entirety.

The whole Ward was based upon three parties: the binder, the subject and the Secret Keeper. The subject was the house, the binder was Albus, and the Secret Keeper was one of Lily and James' best friends. To know the Secret, and for the house to exist for you, the Secret Keeper would have to tell you the secret _themself_. If the Secret Keeper told you the secret, however, you would be unable to pass it on to anyone: if you tried, it'd come out as pure gibberish. Despite that, Albus refused that the Potters' Secret Keeper tell him the Secret: the more people in on the Secret, the weaker the Fidelius.

He smiled as the sun rose over the sleepy village of Godric's Hollow, before he turned on the spot and Disapparated, teleporting away to Hogwarts School, happy that the Potters were as protected from the Dark Lord as they could possibly be. Of course they were: it was inconceivable that their Secret Keeper turn on them.

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_**Friday 2**__**nd **__**August, 1991**_

The Leaky Cauldron. The pub, in the centre of London, contained in its backyard the access to the wizarding street of Diagon Alley. Spells and wards were laid upon the building, preventing its being noticed by non-magical folk – much to the _chagrin_ of the owner, who saw much less custom than he probably could, as a result.

It was a fine place to stay, as they had rooms upstairs, and the bartender was always a nice bloke to be around. A small part of the magical world, hidden in plain sight, here one could grab a cuppa, some Butterbeer or Firewhiskey, read the latest issue of _The Daily Prophet_, _Wizarding Times, Quibbler_, _Quidditch Today,_ _Witch Weekly_, relax after or before a day's shopping. Sirius and Harry, however, were simply passing through on their way to Diagon Alley. They passed through the pub, Sirius nodding to various occupants, one of whom had a spoon that stirred his tea without any outside influence, and Harry made a mental note to learn the spell behind that.

They'd chosen a fine day to go shopping, as the summer sun cast shadows around the small courtyard where they found themselves. Sirius strode over to one of the walls and began tapping bricks, five in total, in the form of a pentagram... to no effect. The wizard raised an eyebrow, and Harry sighed as he reached up to grab his godfather's wand and did the same on the _correct_ wall, which folded away brick by brick to reveal a street filled with merchants and shops peddling their wares. A street which technically fitted inside the wall itself. It would be impossible to fly over the street, for that reason. The access could only be opened by someone who knew of its existence, and had a wand.

Diagon Alley wasn't a regular shopping street, of course. For one, it would be near impossible to buy anything "normal". No chance of you getting a ball-point pen, an electric drill or a triple-A battery. Here you'd buy your writing quill, your bat guano for a potion, or your broomstick for travel... Then there were the buildings. The newest dated back to the 18th century, and the oldest shop – Ollivander's Wands – had originally sold wands to the Romans, the shop being passed down through the generations of wandmakers of that name. And with magic being as it was, when the badly-constructed buildings were expanded upon with some liberal spellcasting, gravity had never seemed to be an issue. In fact, some of the structures blatantly flipped a finger at gravity. The street itself existed in a sort of fold in space, and was invisible to satellites. Funnily enough, the wall separating the Leaky Cauldron's backyard from Diagon Alley was technically some sort of dimensional portal. Of course, the wizarding population of Great Britain took it all for granted, as per usual. This annoyed Harry; who, despite having grown up knowing about the ease of life that magic could bring, was still amazed at how most wizards didn't think of how powerful they truly were, and _could_ be.

"Wand first, then?" Sirius asked.

Harry shrugged, then grinned. It wasn't his first time in Diagon Alley, but it would always be a feast for the senses. Sight, sound and smell were all assaulted by a plethora of amazing stimuli, and it was difficult to stick to a single task.

"Ladies and gentlemen, step on up, for I have on my stall some of the greatest, most wondrous and amazing magical items to be found in the world! The Fork of Truth, many a Foeglass or invisibility cloak, even a Pensieve! Step right up, and you-"

"Juicy, ripe melons! Have a look at my lovely melons! Buy one, get one free!"

"Are you lacking in pickled salamander, dear sir? Nothing like it for brewing up a burn salve, and this is good quality I assure you!"

"HEP HEP HEP HEEEEEEEY, GET THE NEW NIMBUS 2000 – THERE AIN'T A FASTER BROOM ON THE MARKET!"

"Don't trust the goblins at Gringott's with your money? Come to Zabinibank, a renowned international bank, run only by humans!"

"That guy stole my purse!"

"KHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!"

"Flying carpets, on sale!"

"MELONS!"

"Yes, well I'm sure you could replace the pickled salamander with ground dragon scales, I have some fresh just here if you'd like!"

"NIMBUS 2000, GREATEST BROOM AROUND!"

They walked down the street, eyes and ears devouring everything being sold at the side, heading for the passageway to Knockturn Alley; the other, more _infamous_ wizarding street, that was attached to Diagon Alley. Ollivander's ancient shop stood at the corner of this passageway.

They entered with no further ado, and were greeted by a grizzled, old man. The downstairs of the shop was large and open – most definitely bigger than it was on the outside, thanks to an Extraspatial Containment Charm – and with shelves lining every wall, upon which were stacked hundreds, thousands of wands, each in their own individual felt-lined wooden box. An open door at the back led to what looked – and smelled – like a workshop. Wand-crafting was a long and complicated task, and one could only wonder as to how Ollivander managed to make enough to keep up with the demand. There were other wand shops in Britain, but most came to Ollivander's, as it was the cheapest and best place to get _legal_ wands.

"Harry Potter and Sirius Black!" the wandmaker exclaimed, "Pleasure to see you here. Cherry, unicorn hair, fifteen inches, if I'm not mistaken... how is it holding up?"

"As good as ever, sir," Sirius replied with a smile.

"Alright, Mr. Potter, step over here," Ollivander gestured, before pulling out some tape measures and measuring Harry's right arm length, height, index-finger-to-thumb ratio, even the distance between his nostrils. He muttered to himself before rummaging through the shelves, eventually finding the one he was looking for.

"This is the base wand, which will help me work out approximately what sort of wood, core and length you'll need. Oak, intangible core, ten and a half inches. Give it a wave, Mr. Potter."

Harry obliged, and nothing seemed to happen. Clearly something did, otherwise Ollivander wouldn't have murmured about it.

"Holly, dragon heartstring, and ten inches."

Still nothing. Ollivander continued talking to himself, fetching another wand.

"Fig, unicorn hair, twelve and a half."

This time, one of the desk drawers shot out and would have slammed into Harry, had Sirius not quickly cast a Shield Charm. The drawer bounced off the wall of transparent turquoise light and dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Harry bent to pick it up but the wandmaker waved him away, fetching another wand.

"Oak, moke tendon, eight and three quarters."

Nothing. They went through about thirty wands – from maple to birch, salamander tongue to giant spider hair – for little over half an hour, Ollivander getting more and more frustrated, before he eventually brought back a wand with a curious look on his face.

"Holly, phoenix feather, eleven inches."

As Harry took it, a strange feeling swept up through his arm, a feeling of... homecoming? It was clear that this was _his_ wand, he could feel it deep in his bones. He waved the wand carefully and a stream of scarlet and gold sparks swirled around him, lighting up the dismal shop. He smiled at Ollivander, who smiled back.

"Mr Potter, I think you should know that it is curious that this wand should be yours... when its brother gave you that scar on your forehead. All those years ago, I sold a wand to the boy who would grow up to be He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Yew, phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches, that feather coming from the same phoenix. What makes it even more curious is that the phoenix only ever gave those two feathers."

Harry raised an eyebrow, looking to Sirius, who shrugged. It was probably coincidence, but Harry had decided that there was clearly something behind all of this: the last Dark Lord was unstoppable, save by a one year-old boy who survived the unsurvivable, unblockable Killing Curse, and now said Boy-Who-Lived had a twin wand to the Dark Lord's? _Coincidence my arse_, he thought as Ollivander continued.

"Great things will be done with that wand, mark my words. Remember that the wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter, remember that."

Sirius paid for the wand, refusing to tell Harry the price, who suspected it was quite steep, but the young wizard decided that it were better that he not ask. They left, Harry tucking the wand into his sock at his godfather's suggestion.

"You see, in the side pocket you keep other stuff, in your back pockets you risk accidentally burning your arse off. But people don't expect you to keep it in your socks, so you'll always have the advantage. But anyway, we'll go get you a holster."

A trip into Damien's Duelling Equipment later, and they came out with a very expensive wand holster, which Harry strapped onto his right upper-arm, under his fleece sleeve. Of course, the holster was enchanted, allowing the wearer to drop their wand directly into their hand with a mere twitch of the wrist, and resizing itself to the wearer. Sirius wanted to get Harry a set of dueller's gloves too, but they didn't do any that resized, much to their dismay, so they decided to wait for Harry to grow at least a little before making that purchase. Harry was quite annoyed about Sirius paying for all of this when he had a ridiculous amount of money in his bank account that he inherited off his parents, to which his godfather replied that having a wand holster had saved his life on many an occasion, and that it was to be his real birthday present. Harry decided to be quiet, from then on, whilst vowing to make sure that Sirius' next birthday be the best he could make it.

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They took a few minutes to quickly buy the necessary equipment for Hogwarts – robes from Madam Malkin's shop, then a cauldron and ingredients for Potions class, and a beautiful snowy owl which Harry named Hedwig for sending post. When asked why, he explained that "it just sounded right". Sirius shrugged as they headed off to buy a set of quills and ink in Amanuensis' Quills, then finally headed towards Flourish and Blott's bookshop as promised.

Harry was instantly diving between the shelves, seeking new purchases – he knew the shop off by heart, despite only having been three times before – and coming across a few history books he hadn't yet read. With a grin he dropped them into his godfather's arms, who sighed as he greeted someone he knew. Harry dashed off once more, heading to the Quidditch section.

Quidditch was the wizarding sport. Played in flight on broomsticks, it was like a combination of basketball, rugby and racing. Harry really wanted to have a go, but hadn't been able to. Flying on a broomstick around Privet Drive would _not_ be the best plan ever. He _did_ have a broomstick in his cupboard under the stairs, a rather dusty Cleansweep Seven, but he had never used it – yet. Sirius insisted on him always having a broomstick hidden away in case he needed an emergency getaway, promising that he'd buy his godson the new Nimbus 2000 for when he'd start playing Quidditch, in his second year at Hogwarts – provided that there be a place on the team, and that he be any good at it.

So Harry strolled into the Quidditch section, his eyes passing over a book on broom maintenance, noting he already had it. He continued, and had a quick flick through the new edition of _Quidditch Through the Ages_, finding no particular differences save the updating of the World Cup teams' line-ups. As he turned around to place it back on the shelves, he bumped into a ginger-haired kid, knocking them both to the floor in a spray of books. Harry was the first on his feet, and offered a hand, pulling the unfortunate kid to his feet.

"Sorry mate, I should have looked where I was going. Need a hand picking up those books?"

The reply was, sadly, exactly what Harry expected.

"Bloody hell! You're _the_ Harry Potter! The Boy-Who-Lived! You defeated You-Know-Who when you were one year-old! _The_ Harry Potter!"

"That's my name, don't wear it out," Harry muttered with a scowl, "Yes, it's me, and yes, I have the scar, and no, I do _not_ do autographs."

The red-haired kid spluttered a little, before calming down, "Yeah, sorry, you're probably annoyed by people doing that all the time. Ron Weasley."

Harry smiled, "Don't worry, I'm used to it. So what brings you to my humble abode, young Ron?"

Ron sniggered, "Books for Hogwarts, and I was hoping that there'd be the new edition of _Quidditch Through the Ages_, but I can't find it anywhere. Probably sold out," the redhead shrugged.

"I can't find it either," Harry replied, moving his hand slightly to reveal the title of the book he was holding. It took Ron a few seconds to notice the mischievous smile, before looking down at the book with glee. Harry handed it over.

"So, you're from a wizarding family, right?" he asked.

Ron smiled, "Yeah, the Weasleys have been around forever."

"Strange question, but... you've been used to having magic around you at all times, what do _you_ think about what Adalbert Waffling mentions in _Magical Theory_ about the history of wand use?"

Ron chuckled, "_Magical Theory? _Merlin, I'd have to buy a version where they'd translate what he said on the opposite page."

Harry pretended to laugh along with him, internally sighing. So far, Ron Weasley wasn't making a very good impression, but Harry would try to keep an open mind. Harry was far from being a bookworm... but nonetheless, seriously! He liked reading, and learning stuff, and was sometimes shocked by how ignorant people chose to remain: Ron could always at least _try_ to read the book.

"Ronald!"

The shout came from somewhere else, far away in the depths of the shop, nonetheless echoing all the way to them with astonishing clarity. Harry smiled as Ron ran off with a wave, hastily gathering and taking his books towards the shop front. Oh, the terrifying power that mothers could have. In any case, Harry seemed to have found a potential schoolmate, which was always a good thing. He'd ask Sirius about the Weasleys, once his godfather had bought all of his books.

Mwahahahahahaha.

They met up not ten minutes later. "Merlin, Harry!" Sirius gaped, "How can you read so much?"

Harry sniggered as he dumped the pile of books onto the counter for purchase. "No need to be surprised: not everyone is incapable of reading." The man behind the counter snorted as Sirius sighed deeply and ruffled Harry's hair in that manner that _everybody_ hates.

"You should get out more, you have a serious problem with reading too much."

"Nope. I just have a Sirius problem."

Harry ducked quickly out of the shop, narrowly avoiding the back of his godfather's hand.

They set off towards the Leaky Cauldron once more, loaded with their purchases, the streets getting even louder. They waited until they were in the courtyard before they even attempted to speak to each other.

"Do you know the Weasleys, Sirius?"

"They were with us all the way in the War. Great people, big family, though quite poor. I should get back in touch, really. Good people."

Harry nodded, and they set off towards the nearest Underground station.

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_**Sunday 1**__**st **__**September, 1991**_

Harry got out of the sidecar of his godfather's flying, invisible motorbike – yeah, _that_ awesome – and pulled out his trunk and owl cage, placing the two on a handily situated trolley. They were outside King's Cross station in London, and it was the early morning, Harry not believing in late starts for such important events. For at eleven o' clock, a train would depart from the station, never stopping until it reached Hogwarts station at about six. Platform 9 and ¾, and Sirius refused to tell Harry how to access this hidden and impossible platform. Like Diagon Alley, it was hidden within a fold in space, and Harry would have to work out how he was supposed to access the platform.

Before Sirius left Harry at the station, they had a brief hug. Sirius smiled, "You be good, alright? Send a letter from time to time, and don't get into trouble..." Harry snorted, and Sirius finished the sentence, "... that you'll get punished for."

As Harry nodded and turned to head into the station, Sirius grabbed his shoulder and handed him a slip of paper. "Here's a couple of easy duelling spells that I'd like you to know, just in case. They'll prove useful, at least until you learn some proper stuff. Also, be careful of who you get into duels with, because they could double-cross you and call in the caretaker. That said, give them what for."

Harry smiled, and they parted ways, the boy entering the station. Naturally, to find the platform, he checked between platforms 9 and 10, but there was nothing there of any interest, and the station was almost deserted at that time – surprisingly, for the biggest station in the whole of the UK. The young wizard made a few errors of judgment: asking passersby where to find a "platform 9 and ¾" was not the _best _plan he'd ever had. He quickly came to the conclusion that asking the station employees would probably get him locked up in a cell with nice, padded walls, far from sharp objects. The station was now starting to slowly fill up, the clock approaching 9 AM, and Harry returned to the space between platforms 9 and 10.

People stood around waiting, or leant on pillars. Harry was starting to hope that he'd come across somebody looking like a witch or wizard, so he could follow them. He picked one of the unoccupied pillars and, hand still on trolley, leant against it.

And fell through, dragging his trolley with him, and vanishing without a trace.

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**AN:** Another chapter for the world to see. :)

Edited 18/08: one of the sentences didn't make sense.


	3. Waiting for the Train that Never Comes

**ACT ONE: Of Dark Lords and Orphans**

**CHAPTER THREE: Waiting for the Train that Never Comes**

"I thought you said it would take until tomorrow to change the wards hiding the castle from non-magicals," said Dudley, staring over Severus' shoulder with a strange expression on his face.  
Severus blinked. "It will," he said, confused.  
"Only it hasn't," said Dudley, pointing directly at the school. "Unless your ruddy great castle is camouflaged to look like some other ruddy great castle."  
_Where Your Treasure Is__, zeegrindylows_

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_**Sunday 1**__**st **__**September, 1991**_

Harry fell through the pillar, dropping to the cold, hard floor of Platform 9 and ¾. Of course, the magical world couldn't just use a normal train. They had to have an old-fashioned, yet awesome, steam engine to take their children to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It stood on the tracks, ready to depart, and billowing steam.

That was the first thought going through Harry's mind as he lay on the floor. The second was that it'd be a good idea to get up. So the Platform was another part of wizarding London, hidden within _another_ dimensional fold. He made his way slowly towards the train, dragging the trolley with his things mercifully intact.

He was still two hours in advance of the departure, but Harry wanted to get a compartment early, and he wanted to try out the spells that his godfather had taught him – out of school, wizards were forbidden from using magic before their seventeen years of age, which was actually quite a good idea. There were two or three people on the platform, mainly Aurors – the magical equivalent of a police force – as it was too early. The rush would come later, at about ten to eleven.

Harry lifted his trunk and owl cage off the trolley and hauled them into the last carriage of the train, taking the very last compartment. He stowed his luggage away in the overhead lockers before relaxing on the bench, gazing out of the window towards the station. He could probably get away with trying out some magic here without it being traced, or in any case without it mattering.

He pulled the slip of paper from his pocket, on which were written a few spells, along with a brief explanation and description of wand movements. He flicked his right wrist tentatively and the wand slipped from the holster into his hand, and the sensation of homecoming that he'd had in Ollivander's shop came back. The wand was _meant_ to be in his hand. He smiled, and read the first spell on the list, a jinx.

_Knockback Jinx – Flipendo. Very simple, just raise and lower wand with a slight flourish. Not a very powerful spell when used on people, but that also means that nobody expects it in a duel. Remember what I always say: any spell can win a duel, as long as it surprises your opponent._

Aiming his wand at the small hanging chandelier, Harry took a deep breath as he prepared to use magic for the first time. He performed the movement, slowly and deliberately. "_Flipendo_," he incanted, and a small burst of force came forth from his wand, knocking the chandelier so that it swung slightly, a light rush of energy sweeping down his arm. With a smile, Harry tried again, this time sure of himself, and managed to knock the chandelier a bit harder. He remembered something he had read in _Magical Theory_ about the force of a spell depending, among other factors, on how well the wand movements were performed and how much magical energy the caster chose to put into it. The other known factors were the basic force of the spell – some spells are just weak – and the emotions of the caster – he wasn't particularly angry, which is an emotion commonly associated with offensive spells such as jinxes and curses. Bearing the two main factors in mind this time, he put more energy into the spell (he had no idea how, it simply happened) and performed it a little quicker, and the chandelier was thrown violently enough that the flimsy cord attaching it to the ceiling snapped.

It fell to the floor with a crash, and Harry was glad no-one was on the train yet. He left it where it lay with a shrug, and looked once more at his slip of paper to see what he would try next.

_Buckler Charm – Pallisadex. Slight clockwise twirl which can be difficult, but otherwise quite easy. Keep trying this one, incredibly useful shield for beginner wizards. It's nothing next to Protego, of course._

It took Harry five tries before a small, pale disc of blue light emerged from his wand and floated in front of him. He could feel the tiny drain on his magical energy that it was exerting, but the shield quickly faded. He tried again with more confidence and power, and the shield came out bigger and deeper in colour. He forced more energy into it and it grew bigger, before winking out of existence as he lost concentration over it.

No matter how much one read of magical theory, it was still harder than expected.

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Three offensive spells later – Tripjinx, Sumerian Simple Strike Jinx and Tickling Jinx, all of which he had cast at the seat opposite; to no effect, naturally, but he was sure that he'd grasped them – and Harry finally noticed that the train was filling up. He put the paper slip and his wand away with a smile, before pulling _Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling from his trunk along with his propelling pencil and continuing reading where he'd left off. The train set off and still no-one arrived, despite there not being enough compartments for anyone to be alone.

As if hearing that thought, Ron Weasley pushed open the compartment's doors without knocking, smiling as he recognised Harry, and pushing his trunk into the overheads without further ado, before noticing the chandelier and the fact it wasn't attached to the cord as it should have been.

"Hey Harry..." he began, and Harry grinned back, putting his bookmark back in and stowing his book away. He noted that Ron was carrying a small rat in the front pocket of his sweatshirt. "... what happened here then?"

"It was like that when I got here. Honest," Harry lied, before adding, "Hey mate, you've got something on your nose."

Ron sighed almost angrily as he sat down. Harry stared at the rat, and his stare was noticed.

"Yes, this is Scabbers, the family rat. Get over it," he explained. Harry simply grinned back. They sat in comfortable silence as the train chugged along, before Ron broke it.

"Do you know any magic yet? My brothers taught me a spell to turn Scabbers yellow."

Harry shook his head, "Wanna show?"

Ron pulled his wand out, and placed the sleeping rat on his knee. "The incantation is _Mahasu._"

Before Harry could stop Ron – the spell he was about to use, the Sumerian Simple Strike Jinx, would hit the rat with about the force of a hard poke – the young boy had cast it, and the rat went careering off his knees with a squeal of pain. Ron frowned. "It's not supposed to do that."

Harry forced back laughter, "Yes it is. It's called the Sumerian Simple Strike Jinx. Your brothers took you for an idiot."

"Which I was," Ron replied with a grin, "I thought you didn't know any magic yet."

"I lied."

"What do you know?" Ron asked, curiosity glimmering in his eyes.

"Cast a jinx on me, and I'll show you."

"Eh?"

"Just do it," Harry said, twitching his wrist a little more confidently than last time, sending the wand into his hand.

Ron shrugged, "_Mahasu!_"

"_Pallisadex!_"

A small jet of pale pink light shot from Ron's wand before dissipating on contact with the turquoise shield, which collapsed on impact. Ron's eyes grew wide, and he opened his mouth to ask how to cast it when there came a knock at the door and a girl with the bushiest brown hair either boy had ever seen walked in, pulling her trunk.

"Any space? Hermione, Hermione Granger. And I don't wish to alarm you, but there's a chandelier on the floor, and you look like you're about to attack each other. Oh, and you've got a bit of dirt on your nose," she finished, turning to Ron.

"Gravity. Come on in," Harry smiled as Ron grumbled something that sounded like _I'll show you who's got dirt on their nose_, and got up to stow the chandelier discreetly away in the overhead lockers, "I'm Harry Potter." He expected her to be surprised but she frowned slightly.

"As in the 'Boy-Who-Lived'? I thought that was all made up, as a sort of propaganda piece."

Harry smiled, "I assume you're Muggleborn."

She grinned back, "Well guessed. And you are?" she turned to Ron.

"Ron Weasley. What brings you to our corner of the train?"

"To be honest, a lack of space elsewhere. You wouldn't be related to a set of twins, perchance? With the same colour hair as you, and a large crate of what looked like dungbombs?"

Ron sighed, "I'm gonna kill 'em." Hermione raised an eyebrow.

Harry explained, "They taught him a spell to turn his rat yellow, that actually caused the poor animal some pain." As if it had understood, the rat squeaked in agreement. Hermione, however, sniggered.

"So are you doing magic? What do you know?" she asked, sitting down opposite the two boys.

"Well, Ron knows the Sumerian Simple Strike Jinx, and I'd dare say that Scabbers knows it too," Harry snorted, twitching his wand back into its holster. "My repertoire is not much larger than his, really. I guess I know a couple of useful spells for defence, but they're nothing special."

Hermione nodded, before changing subject entirely. "So what happens at this 'Sorting'? I can't find anything about it in any book I've read, and I've read a lot."

Ron muttered something about his brothers telling him they had to duel a troll, and Harry shrugged. "It's a secret. Traditionally, no-one is supposed to know about it until they enter Hogwarts for _their_ Sorting, which is why it's not mentioned in _Hogwarts: A History._"

The Sorting, of course, was the event that would mark most of a young wizard or witch's seven years at Hogwarts. Students would be split into one of four Houses, one for each of the Founders of Hogwarts. Harry had intentionally avoided all information as to the different Houses, planning on having the experience be a real surprise. The Founders were Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw, but he knew little more than the names.

As the train chugged along, a middle-aged lady pushing a trolley stacked with cakes and treats knocked on the compartment door. She smiled at the three, asking if they wanted anything.

Ron grumbled again, muttering something unintelligible and negative that sounded like _Mum's Marmite sandwiches_. Hermione shrugged. "I've got no wizarding money. You want anything?"

Harry grinned. "Can _we_ have some of everything please?"

The trolley witch smiled, catching the unsubtle hint, and started gathering together such delights as Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Cauldron Cakes, Chocolate Frogs, Jelly Slugs, Liquorice Wands and Pumpkin Pasties, along with three cartons of pumpkin juice complete with straws. Harry rubbed his hands together in glee, and pulled a few coins from his trunk. The lot would cost him eleven Sickles.

Wizarding Britain worked on a different monetary system to the United Kingdom, using golden Galleons, silver Sickles and bronze Knuts. The equivalencies were ridiculously complicated, and Harry hadn't quite grasped it yet. If he recalled correctly it was 17S to the Galleon. A Galleon was worth about £5, and Harry had several million in his bank account – all from bounties set on Lord Voldemort, plus the interest, plus the considerable wealth that his parents had _already _owned.

After informing them – as First-years, they wouldn't know – that they needed to get into their robes before the train arrived, the trolley witch headed off up the train, leaving Harry, Ron and Hermione with the huge stack of food and sweets. Ron gazed at the pile with longing, and Hermione raised an eyebrow, clearly guessing at what was going to follow.

"Right, let's split this into thirds," Harry grinned.

"... thanks mate, but I've got my Marmite sandwiches," Ron said with obvious disgust and disappointment.

"Marmite?" Harry asked. He quite liked Marmite from time to time. "Quite liked" Marmite in the way that a fish _occasionally_ likes swimming. "I'll do a trade!"

Ron's eyes grew wide. He was clearly debating whether it was a sarcastic joke or serious. In the end, he decided to risk it and give Harry his little paper bag. Harry yelled "Ka-ching!" as he began scarfing down the sandwiches without pausing to take a breath. Hermione sniggered as she helped herself to a small box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

"Careful with them," Ron mentioned, "They really _do_ have every flavour." Hermione nodded, and pulled out a milk-chocolate-coloured bean, popping it into her mouth before spitting it out not five seconds later.

"Salted anchovies! Gah!"

"Hate to say I told you so," Ron smiled, "They do _every_ flavour imaginable, from marmalade, roast beef or peppermint to tripe, mud or bogey. And of course, you get the impression that there are far more disgusting flavours than there are nice ones. And that everyone else gets the edible ones."

"God, I'm putting _them_ aside. These look nice," she said, unwrapping a Chocolate Frog instead. Ron wasn't able to warn her in time, however, and the Frog leapt out of her hands and through the open window.

Harry sat there sniggering and munching on the Marmite sandwiches, before opening up one of the cartons of pumpkin juice, as Hermione swore loudly, tossing the packaging across the compartment in petulant rage.

"Hey, careful!" Ron shouted, "You could damage the cards!"

"Cards?"

"Chocolate Frog Cards. I collect them," Ron explained, rummaging through the cardboard to pull forth two five-sided cards of bright colours. "Nicolas Flamel, already got him, and – oh, _another_ Dumbledore. Must be my eightieth. See, Hermione, they've got a picture on one side and a biography on the other. You want them, mate?" he finished, tossing the two cards to Harry.

Harry read, "Says here that Dumbledore's _considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times. Dumbledore is particularly famous for defeating the Dark Wizard Grindelwald in 1945, discovering the twelve uses of dragons' blood, and his work as Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and ten-pin bowling. Quoted 'I'm just disappointed they didn't put my thirteenth use of dragons' blood in the encyclopaedia.'_ Funny, doesn't say what his thirteenth proposed use is."

"Do we really _care_?"

"Aren't you at least a little bit curious?" Hermione demanded.

"Nope," Ron smirked as he tucked into another Cauldron Cake.

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It didn't take long for the train to arrive and the students to change into their uniforms – the plain, black robes they had all bought. The students were shepherded off, their trunks and possessions handled by the station staff. They were in Hogsmeade, a wizarding village not a mile from the school, and the soon-to-be First Years were led towards a dock at the side of a huge lake.

"Firs' Years 'is way!" a giant of a man, whom Harry knew to be named Rubeus Hagrid, bellowed, "Four t'a boat, get on in!"

Harry, Hermione and Ron all picked a boat and were soon followed by a brown haired boy.

"Hi, I'm Neville Longbottom. I'll have a lemonade, shaken not stirred, and this is my toad Trevor," he winked as he raised a toad-filled hand.

"Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter," Ron introduced them all whilst Harry and Hermione sniggered at the joke. They all got onto the boat, two sat on each bench along the sides, and once all the First Years were seated in a boat, the vessels set off. They didn't seem to be propelled by anything.

"It's just like magic," Harry murmured with a sardonic grin.

The woods on either side of this thin portion of lake soon fell away to reveal a hill upon which sat a huge, impressive castle. None of them were unaffected by the sight, a chorus of "oohs" and "aahs" coming from the fleet. For this was Hogwarts, and it was particularly impressive in the penumbra of dusk.

Before any had realised it, the boats bumped up against the shore, and the four of them got out and followed Hagrid up a winding, ridiculously dangerous staircase on the cliffside, and eventually onto a wide path, with the castle looming up before them.

"Nice," murmured Ron.

Hermione couldn't help but snort. "Greatest magical school in Britain if not the _world_, in a huge medieval castle, and all you can find to say is 'nice'?" Harry and Neville grinned, and the huge doors swung open as they walked through. They were met in a huge hall lined with two parallel staircases by a stern-faced teacher who stood in front of a great set of double doors, and Hagrid spoke briefly with her before heading off through said doors.

"I am Professor McGonagall, and I will be your Transfiguration teacher here at Hogwarts," she began, "You are about to be called, to be Sorted into your House: Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw, each named after one of the four Founders, and each espousing certain values, all of which shall be clear in a moment. Follow me."

The mass of students murmured as the doors opened wide to reveal a hall of vast proportions, appropriately named the Great Hall. Four tables, two to each side of the rectangular hall, were lined with students, and a smaller, perpendicular table at the end at which sat the professors. The roof was very high up, vaulted, and was clearly enchanted so as to mimic weather conditions. At the moment, it was clear and filled with stars. Of note was a pointed hat lying on a stool, on the dais, before the professors' table.

And then the hat opened its mouth – brim? – to sing. Hermione had to bend down to pick up the jaw she'd dropped, whilst Harry shook his head in amusement.

_Oh you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find,  
A smarter hat than me,_

_You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all,_

_There's nothing hidden in your head,  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you,  
Where you ought to be,_

_You might be for the Lions,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry,  
Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong with the Badgers,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true,  
And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
if you've a ready mind,  
Where Ravens of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll find your real friends,  
Those cunning, once pure Snakes will do anything,  
To achieve the necessary ends._

_Wherever you go you can be sure,  
That it'll be the place for you,  
Whatever may happen, I'd hope you know,  
That you can make it through,  
_

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
__And don't get in a flap!  
__You're in safe hands, though I have none,  
__For I'm a Thinking Cap!_

Harry smiled as the first name ("Abbott, Hannah") was called. She set off down the hall, before sitting on the stool and putting the hat on. A few moments of silence passed, before the hat yelled "Hufflepuff!"

Harry pretty much tuned out until Hermione headed up, and was sent quite quickly to Gryffindor. Neville had only just put the hat on before it yelled "Gryffindor", even louder than the rest. It wasn't long until McGonagall called "Potter, Harry".

He headed up to the hat trepidaciously. Everyone was staring at him, curious to see where the Boy Who Lived would get sorted. He sat down on the stool, placing the hat on his head carefully and deliberately.

_Why, if it isn't the Boy Who Lived. I wondered when you would drop by._

The voice came clearly inside his head, and Harry was anything but shocked. It was sort of obvious, really, that the hat would read the students' minds. Best way to work out the true person behind the facade that everyone presents, and far greater than any mere test.

_Glad to see you coming to the right conclusions. You really are your mother's son._

Well duh, he _had_ hoped his parents were actually his parents. The hat chuckled in response.

_Only _you_ could wonder about your parents' fidelity at such a crossing-point in your life. It's an expression, referring to mannerisms and not actually being related... anyway, I'm glad to see you aren't the quivering wreck that some of your future classmates were, faced with their future._

Harry laughed out loud, much to the room's curiosity.

_This is going to be difficult, sorting you. You have qualities of all Houses: loyalty, purity, curiosity and foolhardy bravery are all yours, and they are the main values looked for by each House... at least as they were envisioned by the Founders._

Well, from the sneers Harry was getting from the Slytherin table, he didn't much want to go _there_.

_You do, and will, have the purity that Salazar Slytherin would have exacted from his students if he were still alive today, but it is true that you lack the ambition and the cloak-and-dagger betrayal necessary nowadays. You're too independent and foolhardy, if not purely foolish, to go to Hufflepuff. I suppose it's a toss-up between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. What do you think?_

Hermione and Neville had already gone to Gryffindor, and Ron was probably going there too, and it'd be good to already have some friends there.

_Indeed it would. _"Gryffindor!"

Harry took the hat off amidst cheers from the Gryffindor table, clearly pleased to have the Boy-Who-Lived with them. He took a place on the bench facing Hermione and Neville. They smiled at him, and he grinned back, as silence fell once more, Harry paying just as much attention as before until Ron was sorted into Gryffindor. As the last person on the list ("Zabini, Blaise!") was sorted, a grey-haired man that someone pointed out as being the Headmaster stood up, his voice booming effortlessly throughout the hall. Probably magically amplified.

"I know that you're all hungry, as am I, and so I shall speak but a few words before the feast: serendipity, plethora, and tissue. _Bon appétit_!"

The newcomers were all mystified by the proceedings, but that was quickly pushed from their minds: as if by magic – heh – food appeared on the tables. A pot of beef stew here, a pork pie there, and pitchers of water and fresh pumpkin juice. The tables were lined with culinary delights, and Harry couldn't help but take a little bit of everything. He felt a bit ashamed at his gluttony at first, then saw that Ron had actually replaced his plate with an entire pie.

Dinner actually passed very quickly, as everyone was too hungry to talk much, and quickly enough, the food disappeared to be replaced with puddings. There was the occasional pause during which to wonder aloud if Ron's stomach was a bottomless pit, but not much more than that. Not too long later, the puddings disappeared.

The Headmaster stood up once more. "For those who don't already know, I am Albus Dumbledore. I shall go through this as quickly as possible, that we might all get some sleep so as to be refreshed for a great day of studies tomorrow.

"First, I'd like to welcome a new member of staff: Professor Quirrell will be taking up the mantle of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor for the lower years, with the unfortunate... _departure_... of Professor Cumberbatch."

There was scattered applause, and Dumbledore continued, "I would also like to mention the introduction of one period's Practical Magic per week for Fifth Years, in which you will learn spells and techniques useful for day-to-day life – this will be taught by Professor Sprout, whom you already know as Professor of Herbology."

A lot more applause this time, particularly amongst Hufflepuffs.

"Mister Filch would like me to remind you that casting spells in the corridors is strictly forbidden, and he has put a list of forbidden items up in every Common Room, as every year, and I sincerely hope that _certain students_ would pay attention to it for a change. I would also like to mention that anything with 'forbidden' in the name is just that: namely, the Forbidden Forest and the Forbidden Third Floor North Corridor; both of which, if visited, will likely result in your untimely and brutal, horrible deaths. I now bid you all a good night – you will find your timetables in your Common Rooms. Go get some sleep, so as to make tomorrow a highly productive day."

Everyone began to get up and leave the Hall, and Harry followed the rest of the Gryffindor crowd on auto-pilot, trying to memorise the route. It proved impossible, as the staircases up to the Seventh Floor – where Gryffindor Tower was situated – _moved._ They even moved whilst people were on them, which proved annoying. Harry made a mental note to get up earlier than necessary each day so he couldn't ever miss a lesson.

It was quite a quick journey, however. Clearly, the older Gryffindors had got used to the ever-shifting nature of Hogwarts. They arrived before the tower in no time, and one of the Prefects – who was clearly Ron's brother, due to his hair colour and the glares that Ron shot him – mentioned that the password was "Phoenix." Any questions were cleared when the Prefect turned to a portrait, that of a larger-than-the-national-average woman to whom everyone referred as the "Fat Lady" in a nice and politically correct manner, and spoke the password. The portrait swung open, revealing a large room.

"This is the Common Room," the Prefect muttered, "Your dormitories are off to the side. Good night."

Harry, Ron and Neville bid Hermione goodnight and headed towards a door labelled "1st year, Boys", followed by two others who turned out to be a Seamus Finnegan and a Dean Thomas.

They all quickly turned in – each in a four-poster bed, their trunk and other belongings already beside them – and were quickly asleep, all tired out from a hell of a long day.

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**AN: **Professor Cumberbatch... totally haven't been watching too much Sherlock. Honest.  
A little bit of foreshadowing in this chapter. All is not well :)


	4. What Did You Learn At School Today?

**ACT ONE: Of Dark Lords and Orphans**

**CHAPTER FOUR: ****What Did You Learn At School Today?**

Tarishma gasped as Evenson's face whitened with rage. She prayed Harry would stop laughing. He did. "Sometimes I fear for your sanity, Harry Potter," she whispered into his ear a moment later, when they were moving again.  
Harry gave her a wink and a lopsided smile. "S'alright," he said. "The voices in my head keep me sane."  
_Harry Potter and the Defiance of the Hero__, Joe6991_

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_**Monday 2**__**nd **__**September, 1991**_

Harry was up nice and early. The others in his dorm were still asleep, but he was refreshed and ready to go. He shrugged on a set of robes – which had been plain black, and now had a red trim, with the Gryffindor shield on the breast – fixing his wand holster to his arm and packing his satchel with the basic requirements before thinking about which books he would need.

He took a few steps down into the Common Room, which was as yet deserted. A glance at the notice board told him that today he had double Transfiguration and History in the morning, then double Potions after lunch. He glanced at the other years' timetables, and was glad that his one was comparatively empty. It'd get him eased into the work.

The classes he was most looking forward to – Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms – he wouldn't get until tomorrow. He sighed as he did a quick trip into the dormitory once more, to fetch _A_ _Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, A History of Magic _and _Magical Drafts and Potions_. By the time he was back downstairs, several students were on their way to breakfast. He followed some down to the Great Hall, noting some of the directions based upon the more recognisable portraits plastering the castle walls, and taking a detour to find the Transfiguration Classroom on the Third Floor – as it was best not to arrive late for the first lesson. He arrived in the Great Hall to find Hermione already there, stirring a sugar cube into a cup of milky tea, nose deep in _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_. He spotted, and overheard, a nearby student using a spell to stir his tea – he made a mental note to try _Cuchagitas_ some time – before sitting down opposite Hermione with a smile and pouring himself some tea, preferring it black.

"Did you see our timetable? Transfiguration is going to be fun!" Hermione said with glee in her eyes.

Harry grinned, replying sardonically, "I'm not so fussed about Potions this afternoon though. I've been told that Professor Snape is a very nice chap."

A nearby Fifth-Year snorted into his coffee, "Nice? He's a wanker."

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, hoping that most _other_ wizards had a sense of sarcasm.

Neville and Ron soon found their way down, the latter having a huge plate of bacon and fried eggs along with a tankard of hot chocolate. The three others sighed, wondering if someone hadn't cast an Extraspatial Containment Charm on the redhead's stomach. Not long later, they found themselves en route to Transfiguration, Harry's previous scouting proving to be useful. The classroom turned out to be a simple oblong chamber, with rows of two-person tables, facing a desk and blackboard.

There were forty or so First-years in total, and Gryffindor were all sat at the other end of the room from the Slytherins, as per stereotypes. There was as yet no sign of Professor McGonagall, but there was a cat sat on the chair behind the desk at the front of the classroom. The four took some empty seats in the centre, mixing up with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.

As the bell chimed the beginning of class, the cat suddenly turned into the Professor. Several students jumped from their chairs in shock, but Harry was calm, having expected just that.

"Good morning all. Who can tell me what just happened?" the Professor abruptly stated. Everyone remained silent, and Harry raised a hand.

"You're an Animagus, which is a form of Transfiguration. You can change to and from a housecat at will."

"Five points to Gryffindor. Do you know an Animagus, Mr. Potter, perchance?"

"Yes, Professor." Sirius was in fact an unregistered, and therefore illegal, Animagus – which had taken a lot of work for his godfather to master, apparently – and could turn himself into a shaggy, mangy black dog. They say that an Animagus' form reflects their personality... His dad's Animagus form had been a majestic buck, and he had apparently been a bit of an arrogant twerp. Harry smiled at the memory of Sirius' explanation.

"I am here to teach you all about Transfiguration. Now, most teachers use a form of spell called a sortilege," McGonagall began, drawing her wand, "... but I tend to favour Free Transfiguration. Who can tell me the difference?"

Hermione raised her hand this time. "Sortileges are easier, but limited in what they can transform."

"Five points to Gryffindor. Yes, sortileges are much easier." The professor pointed her wand at a small, glass ball on her desk. "_Veraferus_." The ball turned into metal. "_Feraverto._" And back again.

"I hope you all note that using the sortileges was simple, and I didn't even concentrate. However those sortileges can only turn a glass object to iron and an iron object to glass. If I wanted to turn the glass ball into an iron cube, for example I would need another sortilege. In fact, I would have to use _Veraferus_ along with _Cubatis_ to accomplish that. However, Free Transfiguration can, once mastered, do both in one fell swoop."

She raised her wand, and with a slight twitch of it, the glass ball turned into a metal cube.

"I do hope you're taking notes." As if it were a command, the forty-odd students pulled out parchment and quill. "Can anyone tell me the disadvantage of Free Transfiguration? ... Miss Granger?"

Hermione hadn't even waited for the Professor to finish before raising a hand. "It takes more energy to maintain the Transfiguration than if you'd used a sortilege."

"I can tell you now that Gryffindor have got good chances of winning the House Cup this year. Five more points, Miss Granger. Yes, it takes more energy. Now I'd like you all to open _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration _to page 10, and we can begin studying the theory..."

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Harry sighed as he awaited the beginning of Potions class, slumped against the wall in the Hogwarts dungeons. In Transfiguration they'd studied the frame of mind necessary for Free Transfiguration, which had been ok, but History had been deathly boring – all puns intended. They were taught by a ghost, for Merlin's sake! Professor Binns had been dead for the past few centuries and thus had no information on anything save the Goblin Wars of the 1200s, which led to most of students of Hogwarts using the lesson to do coursework or inspect the insides of their eyelids... He was hoping that Potions would at least be _interesting_, despite what the rumours about Professor Snape might indicate as to the man's personality.

The assembled students filed in, and sat in pairs. Harry sat with Hermione at a table, upon which rested a wide glass beaker and a pile of various ingredients. Professor Snape, a dark-haired pale man, stood at the front. Once they were all seated, he began in a bored, snooty drawl.

"I am Professor Snape, and this is Potions class. Here you will find none of the arrogant and rushed wand-waving of your other classes. This class requires care, precision, logic and thought. Here you shall learn how to brew luck, stopper health, and even..." Dramatic pause. "... bottle death. Here you shall learn the principles of chemical and magical reactions. Here you shall learn the subtlety and perfection of potion-making. If you are competent – which I most sincerely hope, despite my doubts – you may learn great things. If not, I hope to see you still intact by the end of the year, if only so that I may avoid the paperwork involved in student injuries or death.

"The first rule of potion-brewing is safety; taking precautions, as I have seen many a student suffer the consequences of being ill-prepared, or watching their cauldron explode without thinking of _getting out of the way_. The second rule is to never rush blindly into something. I've seen even more students in the Hospital Wing because they missed the tiniest step in their potion. Though the two rules go hand in hand, naturally. One must always treat a cauldron as if it may explode at any time. Quite like Muggle weaponry, one must assume that the worst will happen. For most of you, the worst _will_ happen.

"However today is quite special, as we have a celebrity with us. Though fame doesn't mean a thing when faced with a cauldron," here he turned to Harry, sneering, "Mr. Potter, can you tell me where to find a bezoar stone?"

"I cannot, sir," Harry replied truthfully and simply.

"What would you make if I asked you to combine powdered root of asphodel with an infusion of wormwood?"

"I don't know sir..."

"Now you see, fame doesn't mean everything here, and neither does arrogance, Mr. Pot-"

"I don't know the answer to either of your questions, which is why I'm here, sir. To learn."

A couple of students with siblings in the upper years shook their heads, waiting for the inevitable explosion and removal of House Points. The smirk dropped from the Professor's face, but instead of being replaced by anger, Snape raised an eyebrow. As if intrigued, surprised. It took him a while to respond, after looking deep into Harry's eyes.

"Indeed you are Mr. Potter. Now, today we will be making a simple mix that doesn't require heating – which is why you have beakers instead of cauldrons. Nothing can go wrong with this brew – though I may find myself surprised by the end of the lesson – and we shall use this perfect occasion to discuss basic theory of potion-brewing. You will find instructions on the board, ingredients on your desks, and I will give you until the end of this period to complete it – much more time than necessary. Get going," he finished, sitting down at his desk to read some large, dusty tome.

Hermione began copying the instructions, whilst Harry just stared at them, taking particular note of the ingredient list in the recipe... _Fermented molasses, powdered sucrose, Mentha Piperita, carbonated water_ and _Melicoccus Bijugatus_. "Draught of Relaxation," he murmured, gazing at the rum, sugar, mint leaves, soda water and lime on the desk before him.

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It didn't take long for Harry to brew up his and Hermione's mojito – he'd once helped out at a cocktail party that his uncle had organised – as Hermione tried to note down every minute and insignificant detail of what he was doing. Snape walked over and looked at it, swirling the beaker around a little and tasting a sip, before nodding in approval and marking _EE_ on his parchment. "Well done, Potter, Granger." A nearby Slytherin's eyes grew wide as he looked at the mark. Harry happened to know that _EE_ stood for "Exceeds Expectations", the second highest grade possible. A quick look at the parchment revealed that out of the twenty pairs, only three had achieved _EE_, and none higher. Joint best in the class.

"Some of you have done well, others have failed utterly. If I wasn't already prepared for incompetence, I would have been shocked by the stupid errors some of you have made. Thank Merlin that the mix was not volatile, otherwise your number would probably have been halved... Now, let us discuss the brew. Can anyone tell me the _purpose_ of the Draught of Relaxation?"

Silence reigned for a few minutes, until Harry decided to bite the bullet. "Its purpose is to cause the drinker to... relax?"

"Two points to Gryffindor. I'm glad at least _someone_ had the common sense to state the obvious."

Some jaws had dropped among Slytherins and Gryffindors at Snape giving points to a Gryffindor. "Now, in every potion one can find at least one active ingredient. Who can tell me what it is?"

"The rum, which you have labelled as 'fermented molasses', sir," Harry replied once more.

"Three more points." The jaws that hadn't yet dropped, mainly among Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, crashed to the floor loudly and dramatically. "Who can tell me the active component of the fermented molasses?"

Once again, Harry was the only one in the class who tried. "The alcohol?"

"I think I'm going to like this year, if it is to be filled with such pleasant surprises. Five points to Gryffindor, and I hope you will refrain from answering any other questions, Potter. Give the others a chance," Professor Snape added with a genuinely friendly smirk, "Now in almost all potions there are five types of constituents, which we shall study further on Thursday: the reactor, the base, the stabiliser, the balancer and the enhancer. Who can tell me which two can be found in the Draught of Relaxation, and which role each ingredient plays?"

There was a long pause before Snape sighed, "Yes, Potter?"

"The rum is the reactor, the carbonated water the base. The mint, lime and sugar are only there to make it taste nicer, so they could be enhancers, although I suspect that they probably aren't. The mix isn't volatile, as you mentioned earlier, so it doesn't need a stabiliser. I can't see what the balancer could be, so I assume there isn't one."

"Perfect response, ten points to Gryffindor. You are quite right in that the flavour additives are not enhancers, as they don't actually affect the chemical and magical properties. The balancer helps to counteract the negative effects of some ingredients. For example, some Muggle remedies cause drowsiness or nausea as a side-effect, which could be easily remedied with a balancer. Come on everyone, these are _easy_ questions, and I thought better of my own house," the Professor snorted, looking at the Slytherins, "Get your act together. Now if-"

The bell chimed for the end of the double period, and as the students began to tidy their things away, Snape added, "Pages five to ten on Potion Theory, I want you all to grasp the concepts behind potion-making! On Thursday we will spend the entire double period discussing and _learning by heart_ everything there is to know about potion safety, as I'd quite like to retain my surprisingly low mortality rate in class. Dismissed!"

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By dinner, Hermione and Harry were being congratulated for having gained thirty-five points to Gryffindor in their first day – beating the unwritten record of twenty, several years before. Then again, Hermione was largely ignored, much to her _chagrin_, as twenty-five points were thanks to Harry. Gryffindor were now at forty, twenty ahead of their nearest contender, Ravenclaw.

Also, a group of about a dozen or so sixth-years that Harry hadn't ever seen – which didn't come as a surprise, save that they didn't wear Hogwarts livery on their robes – were submitted to a brief Sorting. One of Ron's brothers, the prefect, leant over to explain that they were the students transferred from St. John's Academy in London and the Manchester School of Magic; they were here to study for their NEWTs, final exams, in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Apparently, Hogwarts was the only school in Britain in which one could study a NEWT in Auror-standard DADA, which was necessary to even _think_ of trying out for Auror Academy.

As things calmed down, Harry sat at a desk in the corner of the Gryffindor Common Room with a piece of parchment, penning a letter to his godfather.

_Sirius,_

_How many points did Gryffindor have on the first day of the year when you were at school? Apparently forty is a record, particularly when twenty-five of those came from the Boy Who Lived._

_Yes, you read correctly. And guess who gave me twenty of those? SNAPE!_

_No, it's not April Fools' day, and yes, I'm being Sirius. Apparently, he's not as bad as everyone – you included – made out. In any case, all is well here in Hogwarts. Not much to tell yet, but I'll keep you up to date on happenings._

_DADA tomorrow for the first time. I'm looking forward to it! Speaking of that – I've learnt all five spells you sent, although I don't see the use of the Tickling Jinx or of the Sumerian Simple Strike Jinx. In what way are they useful in duelling? I don't see how tickling someone is a good tactic, and the SSSJ is about as strong as you always seem to "be" whenever anyone we know is moving!_

_Hope all is well for you, say hi to the Dursleys from me,_

_Best of love,_

_Harry_

He quickly dashed down the stairs to the Owlery, and attached his short letter to Hedwig's leg with a piece of string, watching his owl depart into the night before swiftly heading to bed; it had been a tiring day, surprisingly enough, and he was sleeping soundly before his classmates even got to the dorm.

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**AN: **Fadida. I quite liked writing this one, back when I wrote it.  
As a side note, been struggling with writers' block for a long time, and I'm about take another try at finishing chapter 10 before I run out of buffer chapters.  
If anyone wants to know, it's Bane and Ronan I'm struggling with :)


	5. Talk to Me About Aubergines

**ACT ONE: Of Dark Lords and Orphans**

**CHAPTER FIVE: Talk to Me About Aubergines**

"He didn't use his wand!" blurted one of the young Hufflepuffs. "I don't know how he did it either, he just snapped his fingers and there was pie!"  
_Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality__, Less Wrong_

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_**Tuesday 3**__**rd **__**September, 1991**_

Harry finished assembling his double Marmite and peanut butter sandwich, wishing that there were some cucumber nearby for the final touch. Ron stared disbelievingly at his classmate in between mouthfuls of sausage and bacon, whilst Neville looked on in amusement.

Second day at Hogwarts. Harry had, once again, scouted out the locations of the Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts classrooms, so there was no issue with time. His copies of _The Standard Book of Spells: Book 1 _and _Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ were sat in his satchel, and all was well. Except that he'd made a fool of himself trying to stir his tea with magic.

Not that there was anything to stir in: he liked his tea black. But he'd wanted to try out this charm he'd seen someone use the day before, and he succeeded... but he'd clearly put far too much magical energy into it. Instead of neatly stirring his tea, the spoon he'd enchanted had spun viciously, throwing tea everywhere... which had led to him learning another handy spell from a nearby third-year, the Cleaning Charm.

His sandwich now prepared, he dropped his wand from the holster into his hand and tried again, using a lot less willpower this time.

"No Harry, don't do that agai-" Hermione began.

"_Cuchagitas._"

The teaspoon that lay beside his mug hovered up into it, and began stirring. Harry flashed Hermione a triumphant smirk, and she smiled back.

Suddenly, Harry was bumped forwards, knocking the table. His carefully assembled sandwich went flying, the slice he had spread with Marmite landing in Ron's hot chocolate, which sprayed over him and Hermione.

Oh, and the tea also went everywhere, naturally. A glance over his shoulder told Harry that the boy who had shouldered him was a snooty-looking, blonde-haired Slytherin, who was now heading back towards his table. As his classmates started swearing and not doing anything about the cause of the situation, he pointed his wand towards the Slytherin and discreetly cast a Tripjinx. An invisible ripple of the air showed that it had worked as hoped, though he wasn't so sure about whether he'd hit his target or not.

The Snake took one single step before tripping up and crashing to the ground in a tangle of robes amidst boos and hisses from all Houses. Harry could even hear the particularly colourful language that the git had used, and he turned back towards the table to help in the cleaning-up. He didn't have a clue why the Slytherin had done that, unless it was simply obnoxiousness. Hooray for fulfilled stereotypes.

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It was too much to hope that the breakfast altercation would be forgotten, of course.

The Slytherin strode up to him just before Charms, on the Second Floor, flanked by two thuggish minions, looking like an arrogant, spoilt git.

"_Potter_," he spat.

"Hello, arrogant, spoilt git," he replied joyfully.

There were sniggers among the assembled company. The Snake growled.

"You'll regret it soon enough. You'll wish you'd never met Draco Malfoy. Crabbe, Goyle."

He spun on his foot and stalked into the classroom, the mindless goons falling into step behind him, and Harry shrugged as he followed their lead, sitting with his friends. A diminutive professor stood at the front of the classroom, standing on a raised platform – every student in the room muttered some form of pun about height to their neighbour. Harry personally thought that his classmates were running a little _short_ on originality.

"I am Professor Flitwick, your Charms teacher," he began in a hilariously squeaky and joyful voice. Who said that stereotypes were dead? "I assume you've all read at least the first chapter of _Magical Theory _by Adalbert Waffling?"

About eight hands were raised. Five Ravenclaws, unsurprisingly, one Hufflepuff, Hermione and Harry. Flitwick sighed as he waved his wand in the direction of the blackboard. A piece of chalk hovered upwards and wrote _Required reading: __Magical Theory__, Adalbert Waffling._

"I'd planned my first lesson assuming you _had_ all read it. Looks like we'll have to do theory instead of practical." The class sighed as a whole. "You brought this on yourselves. However I will award one point to each of you who _did_ read it. That's five to Ravenclaw, one to Hufflepuff and two to Gryffindor.

"Now, what _IS_ a charm? I presume that you can tell me, Miss Dunbar, seeing as you read the necessary chapter?"

A Gryffindor girl, who hadn't read the chapter, blushed as she replied, "I don't know, sir."

"You would if you'd read the book as required. And you, Mr. Malfoy?"

The Slytherin shrugged nonchalantly and replied "A type of spell?"

Everyone laughed. Flitwick nodded. "I was asking for a real answer, Mr. Malfoy. A concise explanation of what a charm is. Miss Runcorn, do you know, also having read the chapter?"

The Hufflepuff he had chosen, of course, didn't have a clue. Hermione raised her hand, as did two Ravenclaw boys.

"Mr. Entwhistle?"

"A charm is a spell that modifies the goal of an object, or the methods to attain a goal."

"Textbook response, one point. Well memorised, but do you actually _understand _what that means? No? Miss Granger?"

"Where Transfiguration changes what an object _is_, charms change what an object _does_. Charms can make your feet light, can levitate objects or people, and can influence behaviour."

"But don't some curses change what an object does? How do you differentiate them, Miss Granger?" the Professor was grinning from ear to ear in anticipation of the response.

"Curses, hexes and jinxes are a form of projectile whereas charms are intangible and general in application. For example, the Summoning Charm will affect an object no matter the direction of the wand, which is the advantage of charms over so-called offensive spells. It's also why charms are one of the only branches of magic useable wandlessly."

"Ten points to Gryffindor. Are you all writing this down?" There was a loud rustling as everyone dove for paper and quill.

"As Miss Granger quite correctly stated, charms modify the function of a target rather than directly modifying it. She also said that Defence spells take the form of a projectile instead of a general effect. Can anyone make a guess as to why this is? And I'd like to see more hands raised, there's no such thing as a wrong suggestion. Mr. Potter?"

"Is it to concentrate magical energy a lot more, save wastage?" Harry shrugged.

"Five points. Yes, because efficiency is highly important in combat. I'm sure your Defence professor will tell you more about that..."

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Of course, the Defence Professor had been asleep as they entered, turban on head and snoring away in his chair. He awoke with a start once they were all seated, and shuffled as he made his way to the blackboard.

This classroom was larger than the others, and was organised so that the desks and benches were lined upon steps heading downwards to a flat platform for duelling, behind which stood a desk and some bookcases. Quirrell scribbled his name on the board with a classic chalkboard shriek, and turned to the class.

"Good day to you all, I am Professor Quirrell, and I will be teaching you Defence Against the Dark Arts, how to defend oneself from the dangers of the terribly perilous world we live in."

Harry sighed as Quirrell quickly leafed through a book that lay open on the Professor's desk. From what he could see, the book's jacket reminded him of a book he had seen in Flourish and Blott's... _Teaching Defence for Dummies_.

"First we shall learn about accuracy of spells," Quirrell began, reading directly from the book, "Offensive spells take the form of a projectile, which requires considerable practice and skill to aim. I have here a simple spell devised for target practice, and we shall all come forward to the dais in a moment to try it out."

Harry sighed again as the Professor flicked through to the glossary to look the spell up. "The Marker Jinx is designed to require little energy, yet also perfect accuracy, and on striking the target it lets out a bell chime whilst marking it with a small white blotch. The wand movement is literally to point it, and the incantation is _Tapa._ All together now!"

"_Tapa_," muttered the throng of bored students.

"Now, come on down here, there's enough space for all of you," Quirrell said, turning on his heel to conjure wooden boards with a target painted on in black. At that moment, the scar on Harry's forehead twinged, which left him puzzled for a moment before he returned to reality... Funnily enough, there wasn't enough space on the dais, and the Professor had to send half of the class back up to the desks. Harry was among those on the dais.

"On my mark, each of you will fire at your target. Ready, set, fire!"

There was a chorus of quiet bell chimes as the twenty spells all missed their targets and scattered around the room, most hitting people at their desks, leading to an answering chorus of yells.

"Calm down everyone, and try again!"

Harry frowned, and aimed his wand directly at the target, straight and almost perfect. His next shot hit Hermione, who frowned at him. For his third, he aimed at the floor, in line with a blotch on the wooden parquet, at a distance that meant it was almost impossible to miss. He nonetheless did. That was the moment that he started seriously questioning what they were doing in Defence class. His group headed up to their desks and as he sat down, he set up a book to protect him from the inevitable shots. Ron sat down next to him.

"Hey mate, that spell was difficult to aim... I don't think I hit with any of my three."

"I think it's a faulty spell. I shot at the floor and I _missed_."

"Oh. I guess that might explain it," Ron replied, narrowly ducking another Marker Jinx, "Do you think we could hit that Slytherin git with something without him noticing?"

"Is that a dare?" Harry winked.

"You bet it is."

Harry waited until the perfect moment, as the second group were firing the Marker Jinx for their third time, before firing off a Simple Strike Jinx at Malfoy. A yelp proved his aim to be adequate, and the Slytherin jumped to his feet, yelling at whoever he _thought_ had shot him. Ron and Harry stifled a snigger as the rest of the class made their way back to the desks.

"You'll get better," the simpering Professor smiled, and the end of period bell rang. "I bid you all a good day, and will be seeing you for the continuation on Thursday morning."

Everyone began to gather their things, pack up their bags and leave. It was only once they were out of the door that Hermione suddenly stopped and turned to Ron, Harry and Neville.

"Hey, wasn't that only the _first_ period bell? We should have had a second period."

They looked at each other for a while, then shrugged with indifference and headed to the Common Room to relax.

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"Ron, you know that this is the perfect opportunity to catch up on reading," Hermione glared, "Say, for example, the first chapter of _Magical Theory_. Instead of playing chess. And Harry, you shouldn't be encouraging him."

Ron was currently trouncing Harry at Wizard Chess, which was identical to regular chess save that the pieces were animated, and tended to yell at Harry whenever he made a bad move. His queen had used some very colourful language when she was taken due to a very stupid mistake. This was their sixth game, and Harry had lost all five so far. He grinned at Hermione as he took one of Ron's pawns with a knight.

"He's still got all evening, Hermione. Don't worry."

There was a rap on the Common Room window next to which they were sat, and Neville looked up from his book. The Gryffindor opened it to let in the snowy owl, which promptly landed next to Harry and offered its leg, to which was attached an envelope addressed to him.

"Thanks Hedwig," Harry said as he detached the ribbon holding the envelope, and Hedwig flapped off through the window, heading to the Owlery. Neville shut it and returned to reading whatever he was reading, and Harry unceremoniously ripped the envelope open whilst Hermione continued to admonish Ron.

_Harry,_

_FORTY POINTS? How on Earth did you do that? And twenty from Snivellus Snape, I don't believe you. And I'd also prefer that you be Harry and not Sirius, because two of me would lead to the end of the world in a blaze of fiery destruction and a storm of pink, fluffy chickens. Anyway, twenty points... Well done! I'm proud of you!_

_I hope that this Professor Quirrell is a competent teacher. I've looked him up, and he used to be Muggle Studies Professor at St. John's in London, so I don't know what he's like when it comes to Defence. From what I was told, his Hogwarts predecessor Professor Cumberbatch was about as useful as a chocolate teapot. _

_Never underestimate a well-placed and unexpected jinx. The Tickling Jinx is a brilliant way of surprising someone, and it takes very little magic. Its movement is also very simple, which means that you can quickly fire it off before another spell as a distraction. If it hits, they'll be too busy laughing to handle the second spell. Also, the best tactic in a duel is to be unpredictable. If your opponent isn't expecting your spell, then you have a good chance of winning, which is why the Sumerian Simple Strike Jinx is good. An opponent will think that it had a secondary effect other than simply poking them, and will be trying to work out what spell it was, not expecting it to be the easiest and weakest jinx in existence. Both of those spells are good, particularly when duelling in your first few years: the Buckler Charm only blocks one spell, so you can follow one of those easy and cheap jinxes up with a second, more powerful spell, to bypass the shield._

_Anyway, let's move onto some more difficult stuff:_

"_Flagrate" – Flagration Charm, no movement. Heats up wand tip, and when you drag it across a hard surface it writes with glowing lines. The tip becomes really hot, so is good if you're being physically overpowered and have no space to move your wand to use an actual jinx or hex. This spell is brilliant when you're being pinned, with your wand touching your attacker._

"_Colgaflaca" – Gluepatch Spell. Circular, lasso-like movement, then point. Creates a patch of sticky floor, very good when coupled with a Tripjinx. Be aware that your opponent will probably be able to use their wand, even when stuck to the floor._

"_Etinciala" – Spark-Shooting Glamour. Just point. It fires a spray of harmless sparks of the colour you wish. Good if you want people to spot you in some way, or as a distraction. People don't expect it in a duel either, and will spend some effort trying to block it. Heh._

"_Tarantallegra" – Dancing Feet Jinx. Side-to-side sway: right, left, right, flourish, point. Makes the target tap-dance. Good times – in our first year, James got both a Dancing Feet Jinx and a Respelling Charm cast on him. Lasted for hours until we eventually persuaded a Third-year to remove the spells._

_These should all be within your capabilities. Try not to share the Gluepatch Spell with anyone, it's known to very few, and it'd be good to have an advantage over people. Oh, and don't get stuck to it; and don't leave any lying around, or you'll become very unpopular. They fade after a while._

_Oh, and thanks for telling me which House you got sorted into. I'm giving you my best godfatherly frown. Then again, it was kind of obvious that you'd end up in Gryffindor, despite your Ravenclaw tendencies. Your mum was always the studious one, too, despite being in our House._

_Anyway, looking forward to hearing about DADA. Have a good one!_

_Love,_

_Padfoot_

Harry grinned at the letter, and pulled some parchment from his satchel to write a response. He took his quill and ink and began to write.

_Shaggy Old Dog,_

_Sorry for not mentioning my Sorting, I was a bit preoccupied by everything. Funnily enough, I was given the choice between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, but picked the former because of friends._

_Don't get me started about Quirrell. I think he was reading his lesson from _Teaching Defence for Dummies_. He taught us the "Marker Jinx", which is supposed to be a practice spell for precision aiming. Everyone missed every single shot they took, and when I aimed at the floor I __missed__. The incantation was "Tapa" and there was no movement, so you should be able to test it out, see if it's not just my class that's casting it wrong. Completely incompetent._

_I made three friends within the first day: Ron Weasley, whom I'd met in Flourish and Blott's when we went to Diagon Alley to get my school stuff... not much of a reader or even a thinker, but he's a nice guy; Hermione Granger reads even more than __me__, and has already read _Hogwarts: A History_ five times through despite only having it since the end of August; Neville Longbottom is a bit of a mystery, but he's a fun person to be around. He reads a lot but not excessively, and I'm not even sure what he's reading. A very big book that looks like a diary. I know curiosity killed the cat but I'm sure the satisfaction would bring me back very quickly!_

_However I have also made myself an enemy. Funnily enough, a Slytherin, by the name of Draco Malfoy. He seems to be permanently flanked by two thuggish minions who clearly worked on brawn instead of brain. The git pushed me at breakfast and spread my carefully constructed sandwich around the Hall, and he learnt what a Tripjinx was. I took the opportunity during the crossfire in Defence to cast the SSSJ on the git. If you have any other spells good for discreet revenge – which I __know__ you have, Marauder – I wouldn't say no._

_Love,_

_Harry_

He folded the letter up and grabbed an envelope from his satchel, planning on heading to the Owlery after dinner. Hermione was still going on at Ron about his lack of work, and now that Harry was no longer playing chess, Ron had picked _Magical Theory_ up and had opened it, waving it in her direction. Harry of course noted that Ron wasn't actually _reading_ the book, just shaking it around. He exchanged a wink with Neville, and pulled his own copy of _Magical Theory _from his bag, opening the page where he'd left off. This section was referring to mind-reading, known as Legilimency. He was about to underline a passage about Occlumency, the defence against mental intrusion, when Neville spoke up.

"What did you all think about Quirrell?"

Ron shrugged, "Incompetent. His spell was useless."

Hermione nodded and added, "The book he was reading from was _Teaching Defence for Dummies._"

"I thought so," Harry grinned, "Yeah, the spell was a load of rubbish, and I get the impression that we'll not be learning much of use. I'll ask my godfather if he can help out for that. What about you, Neville?"

"I get the impression that he's being intentionally incompetent."

Ron snorted, "I don't think it's an act, Neville. The guy's useless."

They all laughed, and Neville smiled. Harry pulled the envelope from his satchel, along with quill and ink, and set to writing once more.

_P.S.: Any instruction in Defence for my friends and I would be welcome, with Quirrell being as good as he is. Hermione confirmed that he was reading from _Teaching Defence for Dummies. _Heh._ _Thanks._

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**AN: **Decided to be less stingy on my chapter uploading, due to the reception, and to compensate for the extra-long gap between the last two chapters. To some it may not mean much; but two reviews, four favourites and twelve followers? Each email notification gives me a bigger smile. Thanks to you all, particularly **KafeiDetour **and **redstickbonbon**, who I shall name and thank for their reviews.

I've always wondered, with curses/jinxes/hexes: why are they in projectile form, when most other spells are not? I thought that the earlier explanation might be more interesting than the lack of explanation in canon.

As a side note, I can't be bothered to rewrite the five following chapters to correct a lack of sufficient foreshadowing, so expect a few more chapters than previously planned in Act One. I also have made a few narrative mistakes, but frankly can't be bothered to start from scratch. Lazy beggar that I am.


	6. It Started as a Total Hobby

**ACT ONE: Of Dark Lords and Orphans**

**CHAPTER SIX: It Started as a Total Hobby**

"I didn't mean you, Blondie," Ron sneered. "Calling you a useless git would be insulting to useless gits!"  
"The name's Malfoy!"  
Madam Hooch stood there in shock as her class seemed to spiral out of control.  
"Malfunction more like," Ron said.  
"Which was how his Mum explained how he came to be," Daphne said in a low voice. It earned a laugh from those who heard.  
_Thirty Minutes II: The Gathering Storm__, Radaslab_

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_**Friday 6**__**th **__**September, 1991**_

It was a strange, strange day.

Harry sighed as he thought about the situation he was in. If someone had told him about it a few days previously, he might have believed them, but he wouldn't have been able to imagine it.

"Come on, Lord Harry of Potter, surely a celebrity like yourself should be capable of getting this back," sneered Draco Malfoy, waving a small glass ball.

Harry growled at the Snake, eyeing up Amanda Brocklehurst's Remembrall. It was a ball that was magically enchanted to glow red whenever the carrier needed to remember something, and wasn't cheap, but was really just a pointless gadget. He motioned to grab it from the Slytherin's hands, and Malfoy darted out of the way.

"Gonna have to try better than that, Potter," he snorted as he spun around to face Harry once more.

Harry knew he was going to be in for a hard time, retrieving the fragile Remembrall that Amanda Brocklehurst had dropped. Of course, Madam Hooch was en route to the Hospital Wing with the injured girl, and therefore couldn't make sure that Malfoy would give it back. It was going to be much harder than he would have hoped.

The fact that the two students were hovering on broomsticks about fifteen metres above the ground most definitely _didn't_ help.

It was Flying lesson, a mandatory class for all First-years. They'd all lined up beside a broom, learnt how to position themselves on it, and took off for a quick, low flight. The Ravenclaw had managed to fall three metres and break her wrist, and Malfoy had grabbed her Remembrall and taken off as their instructor left. Harry's hero complex had meant that he'd felt himself obliged to take off after the Slytherin, much to Hermione's protest. And now they were facing off in the sky, Harry flying for his first time whilst Draco had been flying since he was four – as his boasts claimed. Taking to the skies seemed natural to Harry, funnily enough, and he was feeling sort of high, sort of _free_. If he weren't in that situation, facing the Slytherin git, he would have been enjoying himself.

He shook the thought from his head as he glared at Malfoy, and pushed the broom forward. It ran on pure willpower, strangely enough, and he suspected it drew magic from the rider, though that'd have to be tested. The Snake set off just in time, and the pursuit commenced.

Ron's jaw dropped as he watched the two circle the courtyard, diving through ornate arches, twisted pillars and ridiculously narrow gaps in the stonework. He wasn't the only one: only Neville and Malfoy's two thugs seemed unfazed by the events, and that was probably because the thugs didn't have enough brainpower to even understand the concepts of surprise and shock.

Harry spun under a carved gargoyle and came accelerating toward the Slytherin.

"Try to catch this, Potter!" came the arrogant sneer once more, as Malfoy lobbed the Remembrall in the opposite direction, straight at a wall. Harry growled and shot off after it, probably breaking a couple of laws of physics, but he was too busy worrying about the integrity of the ball.

He overtook it and swooped leftwards, his shoes scraping on the stonework as he swept towards the incoming ball, which was descending too fast. He hooked his legs around the broomstick and took a gambit, slipping round underneath and holding on with his left hand as his right hand swung and grabbed the ball, almost losing grip on the broom but gently guiding it downwards, despite still being upside down. As he slowly descended, he spotted Professor McGonagall through a window in the Third Floor... she appeared to be rushing out through the door, in the direction of the stairs heading down. Bugger.

As he reached the ground he unhooked his legs and let them drop to the soil, pulling the broom to a stop. He smiled as he eyed the Remembrall in his hand, then turned to gaze at his classmates before him, who were all clapping with the exception of Malfoy and his flunkies. That was when McGonagall burst out through the archway from the castle interior, her most terrifying glare on her face. Madam Hooch soon followed.

"Mr. Potter, what on EARTH do you think you're doing?" they both yelled simultaneously.

Harry shuffled his feet sheepishly. "Retrieving Amanda's Remembrall before it got broken."

"And you could have simply waited for me to come back, Mr. Potter," Madam Hooch frowned, "And I recall forbidding you _all_ from mounting your brooms. You both will be serving det-"

"I'll deal with Mr. Potter's punishment if you don't mind, Rolanda," McGonagall frowned. Madam Hooch smiled mischievously in return, clearly understanding something that nobody else did, and nodded. That was when Harry began quivering in his little booties. The Transfiguration Professor took off towards the castle and Harry followed meekly, handing the Remembrall to Hermione as he passed her.

Harry was frog-marched through the castle in silence. They went past the Transfiguration classroom on the Third Floor, McGonagall declaring to her Fifth-year class that that was it for today whilst dragging one of them out with her, and it was only when they reached her office on the Third Floor that she showed any sign of Harry and his fellow Gryffindor being there, having shut and locked the door with a wave of her wand. He had steeled himself for anything, but her reaction was unlike anything he ever would have expected or imagined.

"Yes!" she shouted as she performed a victory dance, "The Quidditch Cup goes to Gryffindor!"

Harry just stared. "What." The other student seemed just as confused.

McGonagall let out a woop of joy before explaining, "Mr. Potter, what are your thoughts regarding Quidditch?"

"Like the sport," he began trepidaciously, "Always wanted to play... why?"

"Would you like to become the new Seeker for Gryffindor?"

Quidditch teams were made up of seven players: the three Chasers had to score goals with a big, red ball called the Quaffle, which gave ten points a pop; the Keeper had to defend three goal-hoops from them; the two Beaters had to bat two nasty balls made of _solid oak and iron_ called Bludgers at the opposing players to injure them as much as possible. The Seeker's job was to catch an elusive, zippy ball called the Snitch, which was released three times per match and gave a total of fifty points per catch, and the Seeker could act as Chaser if they wanted. Seeker had always been seen as the most technical place to play. Despite not requiring intense teamwork like the other positions, the Seeker had to be agile and wily, without any help at all. Of course, normally students were only allowed to play Quidditch in their second year... In any case, the fifth-year had now grasped the meaning of the conversation and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm only in First-year, Professor, so I'm not allowed yet."

"You'll be an exception. You're too skilled to pass up, and Gryffindor hasn't even got near the House Cup for years. Wood, what do you think?"

Wood looked Harry over. "What makes you think he's any good?"

McGonagall fell over laughing. "_What makes me think he's any good?_ Mr. Wood, if only you'd seen Mr. Potter not ten minutes ago! First time on a broom, and he was running circles round the courtyard, chasing down a student who'd stolen a classmate's Remembrall, and catching it with what looked like an improvised Sloth Grip Roll! Trust me on this one, Mr. Wood; we've got our new Seeker right here."

Harry couldn't help but smile as he realised that Professor McGonagall was a closet Quidditch enthusiast, before it dawned on him that he _had_ performed the famous – and dangerous – Sloth Grip Roll. Successfully, on his first flight. He grinned inwardly.

Wood nodded, "You don't have anything important to do next period, Potter? What do you say to checking this out at the Quidditch pitch in, say," he glanced at his watch, "Five minutes? Follow me."

Strange, strange day indeed.

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"... I guess you know about each ball already, right? So now you need to acquaint yourself with each position, be sure you know and understand each one, even those you don't play."

"Oliver, I can recite _Quidditch Through the Ages _and _Quidditch: World Cup Rules_ in _six languages_."

Oliver Wood grinned. "I don't mean knowing. I mean _understanding_. I mean trying out each role. First off, you're playing Keeper. Oh, and I can do _twenty three_ languages, twenty four if you count English with a hilarious and highly offensive Irish accent."

And that was how Harry ended up on a school broom, hovering in front of three hoops positioned at differing heights, over twenty metres off the ground. And was trying to stop Oliver from throwing the Quaffle through. He saved three, and lost seventeen others, much to his annoyance.

Next, it was his turn to play Chaser. It turned out that Oliver was the team Keeper, and he blocked every single shot with ease, but his team captain nonetheless congratulated him, saying that he "wasn't too bad a Chaser, and would have done better if backed-up." When it came to playing Beater, a Bludger was released, and he was only armed with a bat for defence. The enchanted ball followed him around, attempting to unseat him, and it was with difficulty that he kept whacking it away and dodging. And to think that Beaters had to fend _two_ of these off, and not just from themselves but from the rest of the team too.

It was when it came to playing Seeker that he really got interested. The Golden Snitch was depicted in every Quidditch book to ever exist, but it never matched up to reality. This tiny, winged ball shone with golden radiance, and Harry only had seconds to contemplate it as Wood released it from the box the Quidditch balls were stored in before it zipped away and he had to set off in pursuit.

It took him twenty minutes of darting around the pitch to eventually catch it. The Bludger that the team captain released didn't really help, but Harry was enjoying himself in the relentless chase of the small, winged ball.

The rest of that session was devoted to Oliver marvelling at his luck in having found such a competent Seeker for this year's Quidditch Cup. Eventually tired with his captain's lavishing of praise, Harry soon took to the showers and eventually set off in the direction of the Common Room.

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As he entered the Common Room, all eyes swiftly looked towards him. All fifteen or so pairs that didn't currently have lessons or somesuch, mainly First and Fifth-years. It seemed that the news had spread through Gryffindor like wildfire. Harry slowly headed towards the small table at which Hermione, Ron and Neville were sat, the young girl reading whilst the others played chess. At least, were, before his dramatic entrance.

As Ron opened his mouth to ask after him, Oliver burst through the portrait hole with a grin on his face. He quite literally floated across the room in joy, and everyone stared at him as he strode to the centre of the room and jumped onto an unoccupied table.

"Quidditch Cup to Gryffindor, we have a Seeker!" he declared proudly.

Ron looked rapidly between Harry and the fifth-year who was acting only a little strangely. It took a few seconds of murmuring for him to make the connection, at which his jaw dropped. Neville grinned, and said something that was unheard, as the rest of the room exploded with cheers. Harry simply shrunk into his chair, his cheeks rapidly turning red, muttering something along the lines of "not that good". Hermione simply nodded, before returning to her book.

Wood hadn't finished, and after cheering a little more with the rest, he added, "Tryouts for Seeker are unnecessary. However tryouts for Joe's place as Chaser will take place as planned, so don't be late. It's on the board."

About ten minutes later, when the brouhaha had calmed down to mere animated and loud conversation, Hermione turned to Harry.

"I got the Remembrall back to Amanda. Congratulations, by the way."

"Thanks. You can't imagine how scared I was by McGonagall dragging me off for a 'punishment', I was pretty glad for the unexpected surprise. I didn't get the impression that I was _that_ good though, it _was_ only my first time on a broom..."

Ron dropped his queen to the chessboard in surprise, his jaw soon following once more. "Mate, you pulled off a Sloth Grip Roll on your _first_ flight! I've always dreamed of doing one of those, you know! Well, I guess we have to admit that you didn't follow through and get yourself back into position, but you still pulled off the first half!"

"Thanks Ron. So what happened on your side?"

The redhead sniggered, "Malfoy got two hours' detention, and we basically came up here and have been chilling until now. I wonder what he'll think to seeing you on the Quidditch team. That ought to bring the git down a peg."

"Or it'll ruffle his feathers up even more," Neville murmured, "Be careful, Harry. Expect to be challenged to a duel. Knowing Malfoy, it'll be old-school rules."

"Meaning?" Hermione asked.

"Anything goes. Even death, but I doubt that he'd go that far. You'll have to be careful, Harry, 'cause the name 'Malfoy' has always been a synonym for 'dark magic'. In old-school, your duelling partner is only there in case you're too injured to walk away, to help drag you."

"Oh," Harry simply replied. At that moment, Hedwig swooped through the open window to drop Harry a letter, the envelope covered in Sirius' handwriting, a reply to the letter he'd send on Tuesday.

_Harry,_

_You'd better be sorry – your Sorting sets out your entire Hogwarts life!_

_I asked a Spellcrafter friend of mine, Frederic Parkhurst, if he could check this "Marker Jinx" out. Tells me it's a badly-designed spell, and he's unsurprised that it's useless. I'll see about giving you some more general D.A.D.A. lessons by owl._

_Glad to hear you're making friends so quickly, I've seen people only ever come out of their shell by Seventh Year. I recall telling you about the Weasleys – nice bunch, very trustworthy. The Longbottoms have always been some good friends of mine, but can't say anything about any Grangers._

_Be very careful with a Malfoy. Don't get on his bad side too much, or else he'll bring his father into play: Lucius Malfoy has control of the Wizengamot through money and nobility, and is also on the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Don't underestimate the kid either, he's likely to know a few nasty dark spells, and you don't want to lose a leg, now, do you?_

_Have you tried the spells yet?_

_Love,_

_Padfoot_

As his friends discussed his recent admission to the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Harry grabbed some parchment to pen a reply, drawing quill and inkwell from his satchel as he did. He reflected for a moment, and began.

_Padfoot,_

_Please hurry with the D.A.D.A. lessons, because I don't want to continue with Quirrell's uselessness. It's slightly annoying, really. This week he gave us tips on duelling stances – I know I have no duelling experience, but since when is it a good idea to hold your wand backwards, aimed at yourself?_

_I think it's too late to avoid a major confrontation with Malfoy. The git is looking for a fight every time I come across him, and Neville seems to think that I'll get challenged to a duel sometime soon. "Old School rules", he said. Does that mean that Malfoy is likely to use nasty magic? I get the impression that Glue Patches won't get me through it, if what I hear about the git is true, so some more powerful spells might be useful._

_Herbology is very interesting... or not. So far we have read about plants, lots of plants. I can think of better ways to spend my time. Though you did say that good knowledge of magical and non-magical plants is good when it comes to improvising Potions, and I know that it's useful for cookery. But when it comes to Astronomy, I can't see any use whatsoever._

_Flying, however... It's a tale to be told. Malfoy stole a classmate's Remembrall as she went to the Hospital Wing, and everyone was standing around as he took off. I went off after him and eventually grabbed it back, but McGonagall spotted me and hauled me off to her office... to offer me a place as Seeker on the Quidditch team! You owe me a Nimbus 2000, old man!_

_Best of love,_

_Harry_

Sirius' reply came after dinner, and the running ink implied a quick writing and delivery. Then again, his godfather wasn't known for being calm and deliberate, rather the opposite.

_Harry,_

_Good on you! You must have done something incredible for Macky-G to offer you a place in your first year! Shame we've got nowhere to play – I'd love to dust off my bat and Bludger and have a game. Do Ron and Neville play Quidditch? (Hermione probably won't.) They might like a friendly game at some point, I happen to know that the Weasleys have their own pitch for Yardditch, and it might be good to drop some hints._

_I'll work on the D.A.D.A., but I have some contacts in Hogwarts. I'll see if I can persuade someone to give you some basic duelling lessons. I'll keep you posted._

_Didn't you read the useful info about spells that I put in the letter? Glue Patches are brilliant if you hit Malfoy with a Tripjinx. Dancing Feet Jinx will make it impossible for him to aim, and I'm sure you'll use your brain for the rest._

_Good luck,_

_Padfoot_

Harry frowned, then smiled as he turned to Ron, who was reading _World Association of Quidditch and Yardditch: Rules and Variants_, and asked, "Hey mate, you wouldn't have a Quidditch pitch at home, would you?"

"Do I?!" came the overly enthusiastic reply, "You wanna come round some time and have a look?"

"My godfather hasn't had a game in ages. He was on the team for a couple of years as Chaser and then Beater when he was at Hogwarts," Harry added.

"Great! How about I see if we can get some people round for a game over Christmas? Charlie and Bill are coming round, and we always have a game with them, and extra players would be great! Neville, Hermione, what do you reckon? Want to come round for a game?"

"Don't see why not," Neville replied, "I've never played much but I bet I could have a go. How about it, Hermione?"

"I've never fancied myself the sporty kind, but there's no harm in trying," the young girl mentioned with a smile, "And I thought I did alright in Flying lesson."

Ron snorted, "You were scared out of your wits!"

He narrowly ducked a well-aimed Sumerian Simple Strike Jinx.

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**AN: **Quidditch is a bit different to canon-Qudditch.  
Yardditch? Is something... else :)


	7. Now It's More of a Lifestyle

**ACT ONE: Of Dark Lords and Orphans**

**CHAPTER SEVEN: NOW IT'S MORE OF A LIFESTYLE**

There is no greater weapon in all of Existence than the human soul on fire – enflamed with the love we are capable of.  
_Harry Potter and the Soul of the Hero__, Joe6991_

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_**Sunday 29**__**th**__** September, 1991**_

_Magic happens even during heavy rain_, thought Harry as he yanked downwards on his broom handle to avoid the Bludger, before having to almost throw himself off the brand new Nimbus 2000 to dodge the second. Fred and George Weasley were damn good Beaters, and it was taking all of his skill and the broom's capabilities to let him dodge the Bludgers.

This was his third Quidditch practice, and the rain was almost horizontal, in the standard Scottish manner. Ridiculous conditions for Quidditch, but Oliver was renowned for making his team practice in _any _weather. Harry could see thanks to one of the Chasers, Alicia Spinnet, and more precisely thanks to her Repelling Charm that kept his glasses clean and dry.

Two gruelling weeks of lessons had gone by. Transfiguration, the class had found out to their dismay, would only cease to be purely theory about halfway through the year... speaking of which, Harry had a one-page essay to hand in for that coming Monday. In Potions, Professor Snape seemed to quite like Harry, much to everyone's' surprise, considering the man's reputation, and the Head of Slytherin House had given more points to Gryffindor in three weeks than he'd ever given – which is easy, seeing as he had never given a single point to Harry's House.

The four friends in Gryffindor were nonetheless enjoying themselves. In Charms they'd learnt a simple spell called the Hover Charm, _Wingardium Leviosa_, which they'd practiced continuously for days on end and had never managed to levitate anything heavier than a sheet of parchment – which didn't stop them from trying. The simple movement of _swish, flick_, in Flitwick's own words, was annoying them no end.

Wood whistled the time-out, and as the Bludgers' tracking enchantments deactivated and they dropped dead, Harry calmly descended towards the floor, where their Captain was waiting. Following Harry were the Weasley twins and the Gryffindor team's Chaser duo, all spiralling down to land near Oliver, underneath the awnings of the Quidditch stadium.

"Right, the Chaser hopefuls should be arriving in ten minutes. I know that I'm technically the team Captain but I want you all to have your say and let me know what you think. In fact, seeing as I'm the one who's Keeper, you'll have to vote on them. Alicia, Fred, Harry, sit down in the stand near the goals and you can handle that. George, I want you doing your job, and Angelina, you can play as second Chaser. Let's roll."

Harry smiled at Fred and Alicia as they headed over to the stand and took their benches, soon followed by four Gryffindors – one Second-year, two Fifth-years and one Seventh-year. Alicia asked for their names and a few questions about their play-style, questions that Harry swore were taken verbatim from _Quidditch with the Hogsmeade Phoenixes_ diaries. They watched the four take a few shots at goal, with more or less success, in descending age-order. As the Seventh-year landed and headed towards the stand to dry off, Fred muttered.

"John Kiliando... bah. I doubt he'd be any good in a match, George hit him twice."

"Don't be so harsh, he _did_ get three out of ten goals, which isn't bad when facing Oliver. I think he'd be fully capable of being Chaser."

"That's because you've got a crush on him, 'Licia."

Funnily enough, Alicia remained silent from then on. The three judges quickly agreed that both Pauline Leonard and Brian Perry were incompetent, and up stepped Kathryn Bell, the Second-year, who scored five goals and dodged George's Bludgers with ease. It was quite easy to decide on the new Gryffindor Chaser, and the team popped open a bottle of Butterbeer each to celebrate.

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On the way back from the pitch, mercifully dry – thanks to Oliver's quick Warming Charm – Harry ran into the person he had least wanted to see. Malfoy and his moronic minions, in the Entrance Hall. Harry said as such.

"Hooray, Malfoy and his moronic minions..."

It took them a while to comprehend, before the right-hand minion – Crabbe, Harry guessed – swung for his head, which Harry barely ducked. Malfoy snorted, "Potter. Got something for you," he spat as he handed over a small envelope. Harry grabbed it and turned to walk away, to Malfoy's annoyance.

"Don't turn your back on me! _Capitas Dolorem_!"

Harry mentally thanked his godfather as he twitched his wrist to release his wand from its holster, and spun to cast a Buckler Charm. Draco's unknown spell was blocked easily and the shimmering turquoise shield folded in on itself, swallowing the sickly red jet of light. A scowl was exchanged, as the two walked away from each other.

Harry took the envelope up to the Gryffindor Common Room, seeking an empty table – Ron, Hermione and Neville were in the Library – and opening the letter.

_To Harry James Potter of the Most Ancient House of Peverell,_

_I, Draco Abraxas Malfoy of the Most Noble, Honourable, Puissant and Ancient House of Malfoye, challenge you to an honour duel. As the most ancient wizarding traditions require, we must meet in a duel to decide the victor on spiritual and moral grounds, and let our issues rest._

_I propose that said honour duel take place this Saturday 21__st__ September, at evening midnight, inside the Trophy Room on the Second Floor._

_Signed, Draco Abraxas Malfoy of the Most Noble, Honourable, Puissant and Ancient House of Malfoye._

_P.S.: Potter, this means that you have to turn up at five to midnight with a Second. It also means that you can't back out. Looking forward to wiping you over the floor, __**Potter**__._

The final "Potter" had been written with such anger that Malfoy's quill had pierced the parchment quite cleanly. Harry looked up at the entrance to the Common Room to see Ron enter and head his way, and sighed as he passed the letter to his friend.

"Bugger."

"That's what I thought, Ron."

"You planning on telling Hermione?"

"I think it's best not to."

"...I agree."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

... which all led to Ron and Harry sneaking through the castle, trying to avoid the patrols of professors, prefects and the dreaded caretaker, Argus Filch. A quick visit to the Library earlier on had told Harry that Malfoy's spell, _Capitas Dolorem_, was none other than the Headache Jinx, a very nasty piece of work. He told himself to not make a mistake in this duel, as Malfoy probably had some even nastier spells in his arsenal, considering his less-than-pacifist father.

They pushed the giant doors to the Trophy Room open silently and crept inside.

"Glad to see you aren't the coward I thought you were, Potter," Malfoy sneered. Crabbe stood nearby, a stupid grin plastered over his face, "Let's get this over and done with. En garde, Potter."

Harry dropped quickly into his practiced duelling stance, slightly awkwardly but he was getting the hang of it. His wand dropped into his palm with a single twitch, and he raised it towards his opponent with practiced readiness. The two duellists stared at each other, each waiting for the other to strike, to pounce, and let fly with jinxes aplenty.

"_Capitas Dolorem_!"

"_Pallisadex_!" Harry easily blocked the jinx once again, before spinning around to throw one of his own.

"_Flipendo_!"

"_Mahasu_!"

"_Croshpata_!"

"_Tapa_!" Draco shot off the useless Marker Jinx as he threw himself to the side to avoid Harry's Tripjinx.

"_Flipendo_!"

"_Capitas Dolorem_!"

"_Pallisadex_!"

So far, neither had scored a hit. Harry ducked under two more Sumerian Simple Strikes before replying with a Tickling Jinx. An explosion of laughter indicated that he'd hit his target, but he realised that he'd hit Crabbe. He dove behind a huge statue as a red jet of light smashed into the floor where he'd stood only seconds before.

Ron gestured urgently at the door. Harry soon heard it too – footsteps down the hallway. He beckoned his friend over and tossed a couple of Tripjinxes at Malfoy, before casting a final spell that Sirius had taught him. "_Lumos Seguiras_!"

The flashing, yellow beam hit Malfoy as he dodged Harry's other spells, and his skin began to sparkle with golden light. The Slytherin dashed away, but the sparks of light followed him, trailing in relentless pursuit. Crabbe stopped laughing as they both heard the footsteps, and they scarpered. Ron stared at Harry, as if willing him to have an idea...

Harry pulled his Cloak of Invisibility from his robe pocket and pulled it over them. Instantly, the world outside and the noise of footsteps felt numb and faraway, and the fabric was all shiny and reflective on the inside. Ron mouthed _what?_ But Harry just smiled and pressed a finger to his lips. The caretaker pushed the door open, scowling as per usual, followed by his mangy cat. They looked around, the cat sniffing too, staring right through Harry and Ron, before leaving. A cry of outrage echoing down the corridor indicated that Filch had found Malfoy and Crabbe.

Harry motioned Ron upwards and they slipped quietly and slowly through the halls up to the Gryffindor Common Room. The Fat Lady portrait didn't seem too perturbed that they gave the password whilst invisible, and let them in. They headed straight up to the dormitory, after removing the Cloak. Dean and Seamus were long since asleep, and Neville was sat on Harry's bed cross-legged, waiting for them.

"So, how'd it go?" he whispered.

"How did what go?" Harry murmured.

"The duel! Don't think I couldn't guess what you were doing."

"Filch turned up before the end, but he caught Malfoy," Ron sniggered.

Neville sighed, "It won't be over. Expect a second challenge."

Ron then turned to Harry, "What's with the invisibility cloak, Harry?"

Harry smiled, "Family heirloom. First time I've used it here at Hogwarts, and it's already got me out of trouble once. I think I'll keep it to hand, in future..." he finished with a grin, as he pushed Neville off his bed and got in.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

_Dear Sirius,_

_Malfoy finally got round to challenging me to a duel, in the Trophy Room. Filch broke it up before it ended, and Ron and I escaped with the Cloak – whilst the git and his mindless thug got caught! I doubt he'll try anything soon._

_Quidditch practice was horrible – I hope we'll get a game soon, our Captain has got us working like dogs no matter the weather. We have a new Chaser, too._

_Apart from slimy gits like Malfoy, all seems to be ok. Hope your job search is going well..._

_Love,_

_Harry_

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

_**Thursday 31st October, 1991**_

No matter what happens in Hogwarts, no matter how bizarre things get, there's always something to top it.

You can find yourself defying laws of nature one day, only to top it by playing death-defying sports the next, before taking part in clandestine, illegal duels at midnight. You think _hey, that was the weirdest thing I'll ever do_ one day, before the day after turns around and pisses all over what you'd thought beforehand.

It all began with a simple Halloween celebration. Halloween was always an important date at Hogwarts. The evening's festivities were always of great interest and rowdiness, and everyone wore fake witches' noses and their pointiest hats for the occasion. The feast was always a greater affair than any other day in the year, the Hogwarts Kitchen Elves even serving Butterbeer – Firewhisky and wine for the Professors. It was also a highly important day in wizarding Britain as a whole, a national holiday... Harry Potter Day, the day that Voldemort was finally defeated, spelling the end of the age of darkness.

Harry, of course, didn't see it like that. He saw it as a celebration of the murder of his family.

"Come on mate, come to the Feast!" Ron yelled, chasing after his friend.

"Screw that," the Boy-Who-Lived shouted back as he stalked off upstairs, "I am _not_ going to party for my parents' death!"

Neville was close behind Ron, and they were both trying to retrieve Harry. Hermione was nowhere to be found, probably off revising somewhere instead of going to the Feast as the rest of the castle was. They ran through a corridor on the First Floor to finally corner Harry who, unfortunately for the young wizard, had left his Cloak of Invisibility in his dormitory.

"I am _not_ coming to the Feast, so give it a rest."

"At least come down to eat a little!"

"No way. I get enough problems from this," Harry growled as he pointed to his scar, "... without being ogled at throughout the entire feast."

"Harry, I know what you feel, but-" Neville began, before he was cut off by a shrill scream nearby. Ron took a step back to look round the corner, and his jaw dropped as the floors shook with an almighty crash.

"TROLL!"

Neville and Harry dashed to his side to see the troll. A huge, hulking humanoid carrying a club smashed its way into the girls' toilets on that floor. The stench of unwashed leather and lightly rotted meat drifted down the corridor towards them, and they heard the scream once more, followed by another. The troll pushed its way inside and began trashing the bathroom.

"We've got to do something!" Ron shouted. Harry and Neville nodded, and all three drew their wands and stepped into the wreckage. Mercifully, the bathroom was big, and the troll was destroying their end, water spraying from burst pipes and toilets. The other end was where the screams were coming from.

The three looked at each other, and began to cast spells. Of course, none of their jinxes were designed for trolls: their Tripjinxes, Knockback Jinxes and Sumerian Simple Strikes all bounced off the troll's thick skin without it even noticing. A well placed Tickling Jinx from Neville didn't seem to affect it, but it clearly drew its attention.

"Shit! Get down!" he yelled as the club sailed overhead. The troll's attention drawn, one of the cubicles at the far end opened, and Hermione stepped out, pulling a cowering Amanda Brocklehurst with her. She pulled her wand from her robe pockets and began casting a spell, unrecognised by the boys, at a locked door. The door sprang open and she guided Amanda through.

"This isn't working!" yelled Ron as he threw himself to the floor to avoid a flying toilet.

"Harry, Ron, Neville, hover the club!" Hermione shouted as she slammed the second exit shut behind her. The three boys looked at each other, before they and Hermione yelled simultaneously.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The club leapt from the Troll's grasp, floated up five metres until it almost touched the ceiling, before the young mages lost control and the club plummeted to smash the troll's thick skull, sending it crashing to the ground with a light splatter of blood and a cascade of debris.

Hermione and Ron fainted from magical over-exertion. Neville and Harry had to grab onto the remaining plumbing to stay upright. Professors McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, Vector and Dumbledore rushed in to see Harry and Neville both crumple to the floor, unconscious, next to the troll they'd helped take down.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

_He should be fine now. Cast a Revival Charm._

Enervate_!_

_His eyes are open, come on Harry, wake up._

_That's me, whaddya want?_

_Harry?_

_Yes, what?_

"Harry!"

Harry awoke to see Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, looking him over. He was lying in a bed in the Hospital Wing, and his vision was blurry. Pomfrey pushed his glasses onto his face and smiled.

"You're the first awake, Mr. Potter. Would you mind telling us what happened?"

"Amanda?"

"She fainted in shock, we found her in an empty classroom through a secret passage. What on Earth happened?" McGonagall asked.

"There was a troll. Ron, Neville and I headed to the toilets because we heard screaming. We distracted the troll as Hermione helped Amanda get out, and then we knocked it out with its own club."

"That explains the fainting. Over-exertion of magic, you shouldn't have been able to Hover that club, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey smiled, "But the four of you together managed it adequately it seems."

"I suppose we have Miss Granger to thank for the idea," added McGonagall.

"Of course," Harry replied with a wink, "Do we know what happened?"

"Professor Quirrell ran into the Feast warning about a troll in the dungeons, before fainting. We dispatched the Professors, and we quickly found you just as you fell unconscious. You're lucky to not have been seriously hurt, Mr. Potter."

Madam Pomfrey snorted loudly, "Lucky to be _alive_. You and the others have no major injuries, but a lot of surface scratches and cuts that were easy to take care of. Now, I would tell you to return to the Feast, but since you weren't there in the first place... and you'll probably want to see your friends."

"I'll wait for them if you don't mind," Harry smiled as he pushed himself off the bed.

They all woke up rather quickly. Harry filled them all in on what had happened. Naturally, Amanda woke up last, and they were all sat around her bed.

"... where am I?"

"Hospital Wing. Are you alright?" Hermione asked.

"I'm alive, I guess. A little shaken from the troll, but I'll be fine... I guess, er, thanks..."

"No problem, Amanda. We're Gryffindors, we do that crazy saving-people thing," Neville smiled.

"Call me Mandy. Is the Feast still on? I'm hungry."

Ron turned to stare at Harry, and after a moment, Harry nodded – more for the food than for the Halloween celebrations. Ron grinned triumphantly and the five of them set off for the Feast.

"Hermione, what _was_ that spell you used in the bathroom?" asked Ron.

"Unlocking Charm, _Alohomora_. Unlocks and opens doors," Hermione smiled, "It's only taught in Third-year, to stop students from getting into secret passages that the Professors might not know."

Harry made a mental note to learn that one.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

**AN: **Still haven't written an extra word. I could theoretically blame university, becoming a singer in two bands, heading a student association and running three different roleplaying games; but that's just passing the buck :)


	8. I Wish That I Could Fly

**ACT ONE: Of Dark Lords and Orphans**

**CHAPTER EIGHT: I WISH THAT I COULD FLY**

_This..._  
The voice of an ancient and powerful wizard bellowed a terrible incantation, and a great blast of white-golden fire shot out of the hole in Azkaban's wall, shapeless for only a moment before it began to form wings.  
_Is..._  
And the Aurors activated the Anti-Anti-Gravity Jinx that had been built into the wards of Azkaban, disabling all flying spells whose enchantment had not been cast with the recently changed passphrase. The lift on Harry's broom switched off. Gravity, on the other hand, stayed on. Their broom's upward rise slowed, started to decelerate, began the process of turning into a fall.  
_My..._  
But the enchantments that kept the broom pointed in a direction and allowed steering, the enchantments that kept the riders attached and somewhat protected them from acceleration, those enchantments were still functioning.  
_BROOMSTICK!_  
Harry hit the ignition switch on the General Technics made, model Berserker PFRC, N-class, ammonium perchlorate composite propellant, solid-fuel rocket that had been mated to his Nimbus X200 two-person broomstick. And there was noise.  
_Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality__, Less Wrong_

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

_**Saturday 2**__**nd**__** November, 1991**_

"_Dictum Sonorus! _Wind conditions perfect, clear skies for today's match! I'm Lee Jordan, today's commentator, and welcome to the first match of the Hogwarts' Quidditch season, Gryffindor against Slytherin! The teams are beginning to line up on the ground, and the atmosphere is tense! It's going to be an interesting match, as we have three new players on the pitch today!" Lee's voice boomed clearly across the entire pitch, courtesy of his Amplification Charm, cutting straight across the cheers of the crowd in the pro-Slytherin, pro-Gryffindor and neutral stands.

"The Snakes have a new Chaser, James Brown! Apparently, since George Winston left Hogwarts last year they've had to quickly find a replacement... much to their dismay, the only possible replacement was a mere Halfblood, but I'm sure it's okay, so long as they pretend he's Pureblo-"

"Mr. Jordan, stay neutral or I will have to remove you from the commentator box!"

"Sorry Professor McGonagall! On the Gryffindor side, Katie Bell is the new chaser, replacing Joe Patola! We shall see if she lives up to the high-flying standards of her predecessor, pardon the pun, but she is certainly better-looking than Ugly Joe!"

"Mr. Jordan!"

"Sorry Professor! Also a newcomer to the Gryffindor team, we have Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, as Seeker! Apparently he's an ace, and he'd have to be: this is the first time, I repeat, first time in a _century_ that a First-year has joined a Quid-!"

"Mr. Jord- oh, sorry for interrupting. Please continue."

"... and Gryffindor Captain Oliver Wood is already having a dispute with his counterpart Marcus Flint. Looks like Fred Weasley owes me three Sickles, as he'd expected it to be ten seconds later – yes Fred, that's a very mature gesture you're making – yes, Professor, I'll get back to the game – and oh, they're already pointing wands at each other, threatening to start throwing hexes around. I'd like to inform First-years that this is regular behaviour for matches between Lions and Snakes, and Professor McGonagall would like to inform you that it is most definitely _not_ tolerated, but I find it all good spor-"

"Jordan!"

"Sorry! Madam Hooch has released the Quaffle, and is now preparing it for the start of the match. The Lead Chasers are now facing each other, each team in formation on the ground. Easy to recognise the Slytherin strategy, the Hawkshead Formation; created by Keeper Darren O'Hare of the Irish team, Kenmare Kestrels, the Chasers form an arrowhead to better intimidate the opposing Keeper using the appearance of brawn – needless to say that the Slytherin Chasers have to stick with that, as they aren't very adept at using the brain side of thi-"

"JORDAN! LAST WARNING!"

"Madam Hooch is preparing to throw the Quaffle up to start the match, and OFF THEY GO! The Chasers are sweeping after the Quaffle, and Spinnet from Gryffindor has possession! She passes to Johnson, and OUCH Johnson is battered by Warrington! That should really count as a foul, Madam Hooch is bang out of or- yes, Professor, I'll get back on subj- Spinnet passes to Bell, and Bell scores, putting it right past Montague! Good start of her Quidditch career, may it be long and prosperous! The Seekers Potter and Flint are both circling the pitch aimlessly as they should do, and neither appears to have spotted even a glimpse of the ever elusive Golden Sni- Pucey passes to Brown, to Flint, and back to Pucey! Pucey shoots, Wood deflects it with ease! Slytherin retake possess- oh! Fred Weasley smashes Pucey with a well-placed Bludger, Johnson takes possession!"

Katie spun her broom a full turn to throw off the Bludger that Lucian Bole had sent her way, and paused to wave to her friends in the Gryffindor stand briefly before speeding off in pursuit of her teammates.

"I hope she wins, it being her first match and all..."

"Give it a rest, Cy, and stop worrying! Have you even _seen _that girl on a broom? She's an amazing flyer, and I'd be surprised if she didn't end up playing professionally! Did you see that Ollerton Reverse Upend Twist she did a minute ago? Or even the Underhand Sweeper Shot? Perfectly executed, and she scored too! And her Evasive Pollerackey Spin Cycle is _perfect_!"

"... In English please, Xan."

"... I'm looking forward to the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match so I can play against her... it could _only_ be fun!"

"... I will _never _understand the fixation you have for this game."

"Well, you see, the thi-"

"... and Bell scores again! Thirty to zero for Gryffindor, and Slytherin are doing as badly as usu- sorry Professor! Ooooh, and the players pull to a stop, Flint has spotted the Snitch! Potter takes off in pursuit, overtaking the Slytherin Seeker, and is reaching out an- REFEREE! Flint just smashed into Potter and caught the Snitch, now that merits at least a penalty, if not the sin bi-"

"JORDAN!"

"The players land once again by Madam Hooch, who is taking a distinct _lack_ of action against the blatant foul committed by Fli- please don't hex me Professor! Fifty to thirty for Slytherin, and they're off again! Brown takes possession, passes to Derrick, to Bole, to Der- _ouch_, that was a nasty Bludger from George Weasley!"

"Hey, Xan..."

"Yeah?"

"Is it just me or is that guy's broom bucking?"

"That's Potter... yeah, you're right, looks like someone's charmed his broom!"

"'scuse me," a small Gryffindor witch slipped behind Cyan and Alexandra, wand in hand, heading towards Professor Snape – the Potions professor had his wand in hand and was muttering some incantation of some form. As the two Second-year Hufflepuffs looked on, their fellow student pointed her wand at the back of the stand and muttered an incantation.

The entire stand was instantly deafened by a thunderclap of incredible force that shook the wooden construction itself. Cy said something to Xan, but neither could hear the other for a good few minutes. Clearly the Gryffindor witch's distraction had worked, as Potter's broom was no longer trying to throw him off. In fact, the young Seeker went on to grab the Snitch within seconds. Once the boom had faded from their ears, they began to hear Lee Jordan's voice once again.

"... second Snitch has been caught, we now stand at eighty to seventy in Gryffindor's favour! And they're off again! Spinnet, Johnson, Spinnet, Johnson, Bell, Spinnet, Johnson, Spinnet and it's hooped! Ninety for Gryffindor! Montague has the Quaffle, and – oh, nice Bludger by Fred Weasley, Bell takes possession and SCORES! One hundred to seventy for Gryffindor! Looks like it's gonna be difficult for the Snakes to catch up, with Bell's performance!"

"See what I mean? Stop worrying," Xan grinned.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"... Pucey passes to – intercepted by Johnson, passes to Spinnet, to Johnson, to Spinnet, Johnson, Spinnet, Johnson, Spinnet _and_ she's hit by a Bludger from Bole, Pucey takes possession, he pa- Johnson tackles, passes to Spinnet, Bell, Spinnet, Johnson, Spinnet, Johnson shoots – Montague deflects, Johnson retakes the Quaffle and shoots again and SCORES! One hundred and ten to Gryffindor! That girl's so hot, she's on _fiiiiiire_!"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry! Potter and Flint speed off in pursuit of the last Snitch! They're heading downwards, head to head, neither gaining the advantage, and up they go again! Brilliant flying there!"

"Is it just me or are Pot-" Cy began.

"The git just set Harry's robes on fire!" yelled a redhead Gryffindor sat on a seat to Xan's left.

"REFEREE! SEND 'IM OFF! RED CARD!" cried another Gryffindor boy.

"What's a red card, Dean?" asked a third.

"... POTTER'S ON FIRE! He's falling to the floor, no sign of the Snitch! Madam Hooch is calling time-out, checking on the Gryffindor Seeker and sending Flint to the sin bin!"

"That's a _little_ premature, Mr. Jordan."

"She can't _not_ ban him from Quidditch, setting an opponent on _FIRE_!"

"Be quiet, Jordan."

"It's absolutely preposterous, Professor! I don't believe that anyone can even think for one second that he shouldn't be puni-"

"_Dictum Silencio._"

Cyan and Xan were two of the many who rushed down from the stand onto the pitch – such events were often scenes of pitch invasions in Hogwarts. Hooch was keeping everyone back whilst she leaned over the seemingly-unconscious Gryffindor boy, who suddenly erupted in violent coughs, the last of which chucked up a small, winged ball.

Madam Hooch laughed, and turned to Cyan and Xan, "You two take him to the Hospital Wing, and if his friends offer to help, let them. _Dictum Sonorus_," she added, turning to the commentator box and shouting, her voice carrying across the entire pitch.

"Potter has caught the Snitch! One hundred and sixty to seventy for Gryffindor!"

The stadium exploded with cheers and yelling as the two Hufflepuff Second-years cast the Hover Charm on Potter's unconscious form, heading slowly in the direction of the Hospital Wing.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

And so Cyan and Xan found themselves in the Hospital Wing, sat near Potter's bed, as a gaggle of First-year Gryffindors and one Ravenclaw barged their way through to the bedside, soon followed by the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team. The nasty burns had been cured with one quick spell from Madam Pomfrey – a spell which Cyan had vowed to learn – and Potter was still unconscious, about to wake up.

Well, he most definitely woke up when the ginger-haired kid jumped on the bed. Xan shot Cyan a quick glance that clearly said "_git"_, but they turned to the girl who had cast the noisemaking spell as she addressed them.

"Not to be rude, but... who are you?"

Katie pushed through the throng of students, winking at her friends as she stopped next to Hermione. "Some friends of mine. Cy, Xan, meet... if I'm not mistaken, Hermione, isn't it?"

"Do I have that wide a reputation?" the witch smiled in return, before turning to the bed, "Ron, get off him!"

"The teachers tried to keep it hushed up, but you know rumours in Hogwarts," Katie explained, "Troll."

"Oh."

"I was there too!" Ron piped up from behind Hermione, before he yelped as his brothers pushed him off the bed, mercifully quietly so as to avoid Madam Pomfrey's wrath.

"... hey, I didn't know I had _that_ many friends... even some I don't know..."

"Looks like the champion's awake," stated Oliver, "Well done on that last Snitch, good catch, if... unprofessional. We beat Slytherin, so I'm not complaining. See you all in the Common Room this evening for the victory celebration," he added with a wink as he left the Hospital Wing, soon followed by Angelina and Alicia, then the Weasley twins.

"Unprofessional? That's an understatement; I nearly choked to death on it!" Harry sniggered.

"Hey, don't complain about results! You did pretty well too, Katie," Xan replied.

"First proper match, don't think I did too badly, really. Three goals isn't too bad when there're better Chasers on the team. Angelina and Alicia are brilliant," Katie added.

Fred Weasley reappeared from behind a screen around a nearby bed, "Fred played well too!" before being chased off by Ron.

Harry shrugged and grinned at the assembled company, before finally giving voice to the main question running through his mind at that moment, "So, er, who _are_ you two?"

"The name's Swift, Cy Swift. Lemonade, shaken not stirred," she winked, "Not really a fan of martini."

"Oi! That's _my_ joke!" growled Neville, and he was about to add something before Xan cut him off.

"I'm Xan. But I've been wondering... what was with the noisemaking spell? What _was_ it?"

"Aha," Hermione grinned, "As I'm sure you noticed, someone was messing around with Harry's broom, an-"

"I KNEW IT!" Harry yelled suddenly.

"... and there were two people in the Gryffindor stand casting spells – Professors Snape and Quirrell. I decided to hit two birds with one stone, and distract them both. It clearly worked. Good spell, I ought to make note of it," she finished.

"That's 'Mione for you," Ron added, "Taking notes of this, writing a seventeen-page essay on that, don't forget to hand it into to the Professor at the end..." Hermione responded by lightly smacking him round the head.

"Those two are bickering so much, they'll end up married by the end of the year," Harry whispered to Cy.

"Not so sure," Neville added, "Hermione couldn't care less about Quidditch, and they'd get a divorce within a few months."

"Did someone say Quidditch?" Xan and Ron suddenly jumped to their feet. The entire assembled company sighed and quickly left before the two Quidditch maniacs ended up playing "Guess the Team Anthem". Madam Pomfrey frowned at Harry, who had also escaped, before she overheard the Quidditch discussion, and waved him out with a worried look on her face, clearly debating whether or not to use a Silencing Charm on the two of them.

Despite Mandy and Cy's protests, Katie and Harry managed to drag them up to the Gryffindor Common Room for the post-match celebrations. Hermione spent most of the evening working on a Potions essay; Neville disappeared completely; Xan and Ron only arrived at the very end, just before curfew, and the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaw had to leave: Mandy's Common Room was through a door just opposite the Gryffindors', but Xan and Cyan had to go down to the ground floor, taking the moving staircases down seven floors.

"Well that was interesting, to say the least. _Interesting_ people," said Cy.

"Ned didn't speak much, did he."

"I think he was called Neville, y'know. Oh, and it just occurred to me that it may have been a bad idea to meet Hermione. I get the impression that she's going to be asking us for a lot of help in studies, seeing as we're in Second-year."

"Not going to ask me. I don't ever work," Xan grinned.

"Liar."

"Have you ever seen _me_ hand in a full sheet when Snape asked for only ten lines?"

"That was an exception! We were doing Burn Salve!"

"You call _me_ obsessed about Quidditch, and here you are, always going on about the Hospital Wing, and Healers, and potions and stuff. You like the Hospital Wing so much it's a miracle you haven't tried to become a permanent resident!"

"Oi!"

Xan sniggered.

"At least Healing is useful! Unlike Quidditch!"

"Ok, ok, _that_ I won't deny. So, what'd you think about the 'Boy-Who-Lived'?"

"A little anticlimactic. You'd expect more from a kid who defeated You-Know-Who."

"I like Ron," Xan grinned.

"That's because he's Quidditch-crazy, like you."

"He knew all the words to the Chudley Cannons' anthem! We sang it five times through!"

"Much to the rest of the world's dismay... and even _I _know that anthem – We're the best, we're the best, and we're better than the rest, we're the best, we're the best, and we're bet-"

"No no, the _old_ anthem, back from the 1800s, when they were actually a good team! Twenty verses, and two different choruses, it's a blooming masterpiece of Quidditch anthems!"

"Alright, alright," Cy muttered as they spoke the password to the portrait hiding the Common Room. Her ears turned off as Xan began a eulogy about the history of the Chudley Cannons, and as her friend continued telling her all about the once-great team, she instantly fell asleep with a loud snore.

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"She knew all the words to the Chudley Cannons' anthem! We sang it five times through!"

"For Pete's sake Ron, even _I_ know that one! We're the best, we're the best, and we're bet-"

"Not that one! The _old_ anthem, back from the 1800s! The perfect anthem for the perfect team!"

"Yeah, Ron," Harry smirked, "Didn't they recently change their motto from 'We shall conquer' to 'Let's keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best'? Doesn't sound very victorious to me..."

"Shut it."

Harry grinned in response.

"Stop smiling."

Harry continued to grin.

"Git."

"Language, Ronald!"

"He's putting down the Cannons!"

"And they deserve to be put down, they haven't won for a hundred or so years!" Hermione shouted.

"_Ninety-nine years_! And since when have you been knowledgeable about Quidditch?!"

"Since I read _Quidditch Through the Ages_, _The Beater's Handbook_, _Quidditch World Cup Rules_, _World Association of Quidditch and Yardditch: Rules and Variants _and _Chudley Cannons – Ninety-Eight Years of Disappoint-"_

"Oooh, where'd you find _The Beater's Handbook_? I don't have that one."

"... and I have therefore read enough to come to the conclusion that Quidditch isn't really my thing."

"Y'see, Ron, Quidditch isn't _that_ important," Harry added.

The party was dying down, some of the older students lying on the sofas three sheets to the wind – despite alcohol being forbidden – and empty bottles scattered everywhere. Everyone was slowly heading to bed, so by ducking into the milling students, Harry managed to avoid being hexed by Ron, and decided to sleep under his bed, under the Invisibility Cloak, for safety.

One did not talk badly of Quidditch around Ron.

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**AN: **The non-canon rules for Quidditch are, coincidentally, very similar to those found in Harry Potter Comics, a fanfic webcomic by Swiftbow and Brogen. It's worth a read, as is their other comic, Planescape Survival Guide.

Anyhoo, have written a grand total of thirteen words since last upload, and only two buffer chapters left. Uh oh ^^

**Response to review by Taz :- **

Shame you reviewed "anonymously", as I'd have loved to reply directly.  
Harry sleeping in the cupboard isn't due to the Dursleys being nasty: all of his magic-related possessions are kept in there so that they're all in one place, and so that visitors can't accidentally come across them; it's also so that Vernon has as little to do with them as possible (he hates magic, but he still likes Harry.)

Harry not living with Sirius is for several reasons. For one, Dumbledore has his big plan involving Blood Wards and all that, and Sirius respects the old man. There's also the fact that Sirius spends little time in the UK. Dark wizard hunters don't really stay in one place very long. Constant... VIGILANCE!

As to Pettigrew. You don't _really_ expect me to reveal the entire plotline from the first chapter, do you?

The different date-lines being out of order is normal. It jumps back and forth in order to intersperse the past with the present, and for better foreshadowing.

Thanks for the link - to be honest, it doesn't contain much that I didn't already know, but it's a very good synopsis.

**Response to reviews by HeartsGlow :-**

Well done on pointing out the two year gap between the murder and his being imprisoned. That's the period during which Sirius is hunting for the person responsible, before eventually being caught and imprisoned injustly. This is the canon "Pettigrew blows up the street" moment. Except that I'm playing it differently :)

10-11-1980? Foreshadowing. You'll find out if I ever get writing again.

You know what Sirius is like, of course he's gonna let Harry do it himself. Also, one has to remember that that back in those days, kids were allowed to leave the house without ten inches of protective padding. I remember even as late as 2000, when I was 7, my parents would let me go about alone. Also, who's saying that Sirius isn't discreetly watching over him in case?

As for Snape, I decided from the go that he wouldn't be the moron from canon. Yeah, he misses Lily, and feels terrible because of it, but that's no excuse for him being mean to Harry. My Severus has an open mind and is logical, and as such will not discriminate against a student based on their appearance.

I can guarantee that every story quoted at the top is of very high quality. If you're on the lookout for good stories, just go digging through my Favourites list, they're all brilliant, as are the authors.

I found the 150pts per Snitch a bit... poor, frankly. Canon rules are literally a Snitch-hunt with six people flying around to make it seem more interesting. This way, the other players have an impact, and the Seekers have an impact on the rest of the game (act as fourth Chaser if they want). Yardditch is the four-player version of Quidditch, hence the "yard". Keeper, two Chasers and a Beater only.


	9. I Got A Dragon On My Back

**ACT ONE: Of Dark Lords and Orphans**

**CHAPTER NINE: I GOT A DRAGON ON MY BACK**

"Uh . . . didn't really think it through," Ron offered weakly.  
"Just like Ron," Harry laughed. "Comes up with a course of action and damn the details."  
_Old Soldiers Never Die__, Rorschach's Blot_

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_**Tuesday 24**__**th**__** December, 1991**_

"There he is! Ron, get him!"

"Should'a clipped his wings when we had the chance, 'Mione!"

"He shouldn't be able to fly, though," Hermione shouted, "He's only a baby!"

"A baby?!" Ron yelled, "He just burnt my arm!"

"Grab him! _Petrificus Totalis_!" Hermione muttered. The spell hit the airborne baby dragon head-on, but rebounded off the thick hide and hit the girl right in the chest, freezing her limbs together and sending her toppling to the floor, her wand spinning off down the spiral staircase. Ron cursed loudly.

"We'll need better than that!" Fay shouted up to Ron, "Don't try to cast jinxes at Norbert, silly! Dragons resist magic cast directly on them! _Fuex Cordem_!"

The lasso that shot out of her wand wrapped around the dragon and squeezed tightly, but the dragon just threw the cord off with ease, and twirled around, shooting off a burst of fire from its mouth in triumph. Fay dashed up the staircase of the Astronomy tower, casting a quick reversal spell on Hermione as she went. Mandy kept waiting nearby, keeping her wand ready to cast a Flame-Freezing Charm in case of what Fay referred to as "_Dragon-Keeper Occupational Hazards._"

"_Impedi-_" Ron began.

"Oh yes, cast _Impedimenta_ at him, that'll help when it rebounds off and hits you in the face! What did I tell you about jinxes?!" Fay shouted, "'Mione, what's that windy spell of yours?"

"_Soplavento_, and oh no, he's gone out through that window!"

"I think not," Harry grinned as he soared past with a baby dragon contained in a reinforced, giant butterfly net, on his broomstick, "You ladies and gentleman should really leave this to the professionals, y'know."

"We'd better take him up to the top, and hope Charlie comes by soon," Ron said, "I think everyone heard us failing to catch the little git."

"It's the Christmas holidays, the castle's empty. Meet you up top," Harry winked as he rose upwards to land on the turret with a smile, victoriously brandishing the dragon-filled net. Some silhouettes on the sunset horizon showed that Ron's older brother was en route with some friends, to collect the illegal Norwegian Ridgeback dragon, and to take it to their Dragon Sanctuary in Romania...

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_**Friday 15**__**th**__** November, 1991**_

"Hagrid, what's _that_?"

Hagrid grinned a huge, beaming grin before replying, "I'm glad you asked. That, Hermione, is a very rare thin' that I've been wanting to show you all, called a dragon egg..."

Harry, Hermione, Ron, Neville and Mandy were sat around the round table in Hagrid's hut on the grounds, drinking tea and politely avoiding the rock cakes – which were indeed quite rocky and hard. It was quite late, and the fire in the hearth sent shadows flickering across the hut, which was otherwise lit by a few mere candles. Hagrid was sat on a stool next to the fireplace, occasionally glancing at a large object that looked quite like a chicken egg, save the fact that it was about ten times the size, and a mottled brown colour.

Hermione raised an eyebrow in response, "Hagrid, you kn- nevermind, just _how_?"

"I won it in a game of poker off a guy in the Hog's Head Inn, in Hogsmeade. He says it were a Norwegian Ridgeback egg, I've always wanted one of them..."

Hermione sighed, "Hagrid, your hut is made of wood, and Norwegian Ridgebacks are the fieriest dragons you can find... have you even read _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, or at least the sections referring to what kind of creature you _shouldn't_ keep in your _wooden hut_?!"

"I hate to agree with Hermione, but you really shouldn't keep a dragon egg," Ron added, "Asides from fire, Norwegian Ridgebacks can grow to be twice the size of this hut, and are impossible to control unless you have a large supply of meat covered with Scotch Bonnet chillies." The students all stared at Ron, who shrugged before continuing, "My brother Charlie works at a Dragon Sanctuary in Romania, where they look after and study dragons."

"Nice," Neville replied.

Of course, the students were far too intrigued to let the whole thing slide. They followed the process of incubation amidst a constant, hot fire – which made Hagrid's hut about as hot as a volcano – for about a month until the egg finally hatched with a resounding _crack_, as they sat drinking tea and wondering about whether Hagrid's rock cakes could be used as paperweights.

"Cor, isn't he cute!" Hagrid cooed as the dragon's first breath set his beard on fire, "We'll call him Norbert, Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback." He then realised his problem with immolation of facial hair, and patted it out as fast as he could.

Harry glanced upwards to the windows by the door to the hut to spot a face looking through. As he was about to shout out in alarm, there came a knock on the door, and it burst open suddenly to reveal a Gryffindor First-year girl, who they all recognised save Mandy, but that none of them knew. The first thing that they all noticed was that her long, black hair was held into a bun by two well-placed wooden rods which looked quite like chopsticks. The second thing they noticed was her hyperactivity.

"Hi, couldn't help but notice that you have a dragon, you should really be more discreet about this you know! Norwegian Ridgeback, nice, their heartstrings are apparently very volatile when used in wands and one has to be careful when using them particularly bonded with cherrywood, at least that's what I was told..."

Harry took the advantage of her pausing to take a deep breath to interject. "Hey, wha-"

"... I'm Fay, Fay Dunbar, Fay is actually a shortening of Falbala, and I really hate my parents for that, which is why I kept on rearranging their clothes in the wardrobe to get my revenge, but I don't think they noticed, which is why I'm going to find a way to use magic to do something more inventive, hopefully before I start my future career as a wandmaker and won't have time to come back and pull silly, childish pranks on my parents but that won't stop me from being childish anyway, I have an excuse, I'm only eleven but then again I'm waffling – ooh, I like waffles, particularly when drizzled with maple syrup, that makes them delicious, and I end up eating at least twenty, which probably explains my hyperactivity – so we were talking about a dragon weren't we, and I'm sure that he'll grow up to provide some very nice heartstrings once we've passed the minor problem of a flammable hut but I guess tha-"

Hermione lowered her wand, her Silencing Charm successfully cast. The whole room sighed in relief whilst the new arrival's mouth kept opening and shutting, as she clearly hadn't noticed her new predicament, the silence only broken by the crackle of the fire and a single word uttered by Mandy.

"What."

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It didn't take too long – only about a week or so – to persuade Hagrid that Norbert had to go. A dragon was _not _something that could be kept in a hut, particularly when the dragon smashed apart most of the inside. At least Norbert hadn't burnt it to the ground, which was a small mercy. And thus was devised the plan to smuggle Norbert out of the castle on Christmas Eve, whilst no-one was in the castle. Ron had contacted Charlie and set as a rendezvous point the top of the Astronomy tower.

"So, how're we gonna do this?" Hermione murmured.

"Get Norbert inside a box, then haul him up there," Mandy suggested.

They were sat in a small, discreet alcove of the Library – the only location that they could all get together in, as the Hogwarts grounds were now far too cold to even consider sitting outside, and each House Common Room was forbidden to members of the other Houses. There were rumours of a long lost Hogwarts Common Room available to all Houses, but it had escaped discovery for more than a hundred years. Of course, the disadvantage of the Library was that conversations had to be kept to a minimum, as the silence made it easy to overhear conversations. Oh, and people that Madam Pince, the librarian, caught talking would be subjected to a myriad of medieval tortures.

Harry sighed, "Good luck keeping him in there. I guess Hagrid must have some kind of butterfly net; if we reinforce it, it could be useful. What do you suggest, Fay?"

Fay grinned, "Drug him with some sleep potion, and take him up as quickly as possible, before it wears off, because you've got to be careful with dragons, they resist magic..."

Fay had quickly become a new addition to the group, and they were slowly training her to _not_ go into a speedy, incomprehensible monologue whenever she spoke. She proved to be a mine of information when it came to wands and magical creatures, surprisingly, as she was born to Muggle parents. As she continuously reminded her four friends, she wanted to become a wandmaker when she grew up – sorry, wanted to become? _Would _become.

"... best plan is to get Hagrid to procure some Sleeping Draught and deal with it, so we can take Norbert up under cover of the Invisibility Cloak, and the rest should be tickety-boo."

"I could probably make a Sleeping Draught, it's not ridiculously difficult, and I've got everything needed except Flobberworms. We'll have to find a way of getting some," Hermione rubbed her head thoughtfully.

Fay was now grinning ear to ear, "I have some Flobberworms, if you want any."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and opened her mouth to ask some question of some form, but decided against it. She opened her mouth again, but was saved further embarrassment by Neville's sudden arrival. Their classmate slipped onto the bench beside Harry.

"Hey guys, what're you working on?"

"Smuggling a baby dragon out of the school. Any ideas?" Harry asked, before looking Neville up and down. "Mate, your robes are really dirty, and... is that a cut on your arm?"

Neville shrugged, and drew his wand, "Yeah, looks like it, gimme a sec. _Episkey_, _Scourgify,_" he murmured, and the thin, red cut sealed itself up, leaving no trace of it ever having happened, whilst the brown slime on his robes faded away to nothingness. Hermione's eyes widened, and Neville sighed, cutting her off before she could open her mouth.

"_Episkey_ is the Minor Sealing Sortilege, it's a healing spell that my gran taught me. The wand movement is simple enough, but the spell only works on small wounds, it can make bigger things worse. _Scourgify_ is the Cleaning Charm, really useful. Remind me to show you when I can be bothered, for now I'd just like to sit around and relax."

"It's Sunday, so no worries about that, and the Christmas holidays are coming up. Fay, Fay Dunbar," Fay smiled.

Neville glanced at the most recent addition to the group and smiled back, "The name's Longbottom, Neville Longbottom. Shaken, not stirred. Are those chopsticks in your hair? Suits you."

Harry, Hermione and Fay laughed whilst Ron and Mandy raised an eyebrow, Harry eventually asking, "I've always wondered, since we first met... How come you know James Bond?"

In response, Neville hummed the theme music as he slipped away into the stacks of books, Ron and Mandy now gaping in lack of understanding. Harry winked, "We'll explain some time. Now, let's get on with this plan."

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_**Tuesday 24**__**th**__** December, 1991**_

"Come on, faster! We'll help you carry it, Ron!"

"You can't, the crate's not big enough!"

"Are you a wizard or aren't you? _Wingardium Leviosa_!" The crate suddenly lightened in Ron's hands, not enough to make it hover, but removing nonetheless most of the weight.

"Why are you so clever, Hermione?"

"To raise the average IQ again after you lowered it. Now, let's guide him gently up the spiral staircase."

The crate rumbled in Ron's hands, and suddenly erupted into flames. Mandy rushed forwards to cast a Flame-Freezing Charm, but it wasn't needed. The remnants of the crate had vaporised, leaving Ron almost unharmed – he'd dropped it the instant his hands got hot – and now Norbert was flying upwards, escaping their grasp as he ducked into the shadows.

"Bugger, we were almost there, and the little git torched my arm!"

"Language, Ronald!"

"How are we going to find him again?" Mandy asked.

Ron replied, "We'll just have to keep our eyes open, and if you can smell fire, then you're com-"

"There he is! Ron, get him!"

"Should'a clipped his wings when we had the chance, 'Mione!"

"He shouldn't be able to fly, though," Hermione shouted, "He's only a baby!"

"A baby?!" Ron yelled, "He just burnt my arm!"

"Grab him! _Petrificus Totalis_!" Hermione muttered. The spell hit the airborne baby dragon head-on, but rebounded off the thick hide and hit the girl right in the chest, freezing her limbs together and sending her toppling to the floor, her wand spinning off down the spiral staircase. Ron cursed loudly.

"We'll need better than that!" Fay shouted up to Ron, "Don't try to cast jinxes at Norbert, silly! Dragons resist magic cast directly on them! _Fuex Cordem_!"

The lasso that shot out of her wand wrapped around the dragon and squeezed tightly, but the dragon just threw the cord off with ease, and twirled around, shooting off a burst of fire from its mouth in triumph. Fay dashed up the staircase of the Astronomy tower, casting a quick reversal spell on Hermione as she went. Mandy kept waiting nearby, ready to cast that Flame-Freezing Charm.

"_Impedi-_" Ron began.

"Oh yes, cast _Impedimenta_ at him, that'll help when it rebounds off and hits you in the face! What did I tell you about jinxes?! 'Mione, what's that windy spell of yours?"

"_Soplavento_, and oh no, he's gone out through that window!"

"I think not," Harry grinned as he soared past with a baby dragon contained in a reinforced, giant butterfly net, on his broomstick, "You ladies and gentleman should really leave this to the professionals, y'know."

"We'd better take him up to the top, and hope Charlie comes by soon," Ron said, "I think everyone heard us failing to catch the little git."

"It's the Christmas holidays, the castle's empty. Meet you up top," Harry winked as he rose upwards to land on the turret with a smile, victoriously brandishing the dragon-filled net. Some silhouettes on the sunset horizon showed that Ron's older brother was en route with some friends, to collect the illegal Norwegian Ridgeback dragon, and to take it to their Dragon Sanctuary in Romania. Norbert struggled, but the butterfly net was clearly enchanted to keep him pretty tightly inside. If only they'd used it from the very beginning.

Ron, Mandy, Fay and Hermione soon arrived on top. They weren't wearing their robes, due to the driving wind, and they could feel the cold seeping into them.

"Bloody Scotland."

"Language, Ronald!"

Ron grumbled something that sounded like "_bugger off, Hermione_", as five figures on broomsticks swooped down to land on the tower roof. They all wore dark robes covered with reflective breastplates, looking like they were made of the same substance as Norbert's hide. One of them pulled down a hood to reveal himself as a tall – well, at least, that's how he appeared to the eleven year-old students – ginger-haired young man, with the exact same complexion as Ron.

"Hey Ron," Charlie grinned as he nodded at the five of them, "Where's this Norwegian Ridgeback?"

"Here," Harry handed the net to the dragon handler.

"This is a really good net," he commented, looking it over, "It looks like you've got a standard butterfly net and reinforced it, seems to work perfectly. Nice idea."

"Charlie," one of the silhouettes murmured, "Să mergem."

"Looks like we're off, guys," Charlie waved, "See you around, and try to stay out of trouble."

Dragon net in hand, they took off onto the horizon, leaving the five students behind in the howling wind.

"Let's head back to bed. Best we don't get caught out here," Hermione said, as they headed down the spiral staircase. However, approaching footsteps drew their attention. A quick peek round a corner revealed the creeper to be Professor McGonagall.

"Bugger!"

"Language, Hermione!" sniggered Ron in a fake, girly voice.

"Shush, before she hears us!"

"She already has! Run!"

The students could thank Hogwarts for its winding passages, as they very quickly came across a junction with two other corridors, almost running clear into Neville, and they quickly split up. Harry found himself sprinting hell for leather down a thin passageway, followed by Hermione and Fay. Of course, that's when they learnt that the Professors knew Hogwarts much more than they ever could, and they ran straight into a wall, turning round with horror to see the scowl on their Head of House's face.

"Detention tomorrow night for creeping around the school after curfew, all three of you and Mr. Malfoy. With Hagrid, you'll be going into the Forbidden Forest. 8PM sharpish, at his hut."

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**AN: **This is the bit where I whinge about not having the time to keep writing this fanfic. I'm honestly trying. Anyhoo, here's the latest chapter.


	10. Oh, Them Silly Unicorns

**ACT ONE: Of Dark Lords and Orphans**

**CHAPTER TEN: OH, THEM SILLY UNICORNS**

"I know what I have to do. I have to die. I love you all... Except you Draco, I f***ing hate you."  
_A Very Potter Musical__, Harry Potter (Darren Criss)_

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_**Wednesday 25**__**th**__** December, 1991**_

"Well _this_ seriously sucks. Not only do I have detention, but I have to spend it with two Mudbloods and a halfwit. It could be worse, Weasley could be here too, then we'd have a full family reu-"

"_Langlock_."

"Harry, please try not to hex Malfoy," Hermione admonished.

"Hey, at least he can't spout stupidity at us now."

"You could use the more common Silencing Charm instead of _sticking his tongue to the roof of his mouth_."

Harry shrugged and Fay sniggered as they awaited Hagrid, near his hut on the grounds. They were to serve their detention with Hagrid – although Draco Malfoy had spied on them in the corridors, he hadn't seen the dragon, so McGonagall had no idea what they had been up to. Luckily. Because smuggling dragons probably broke at least five school rules... not to mention _the law_.

They had been out after curfew, however, and that was what had landed them in detention.

They turned as they heard footsteps on the soft grass, to see Hagrid carrying a huge crossbow, a quiver of quarrels at his belt. "Alright, Harry? Fay, Hermione... Malfoy. Today we're goin' to be lookin' through the Forest, be-"

"The Forbidden Forest?! Isn't it... well, you know, _forbidden_, and full of nasty creatures?" Malfoy whimpered, much to his fellow students' amusement.

"Yeh'll be fine, yer with me. We're lookin' for signs of unicorns, as I've heard rumours that somethin' is huntin' them, so we should make sure they're alright. We're goin' to split into two groups to cover more ground: Harry, Fay, yer with Fang. Malfoy, Hermione, yer with me."

The aforementioned Fang, a huge, black dog of some scary variety that Harry was unable to name, padded up and nuzzled Hagrid's leg.

"If you find anything, send up green sparks. If you're in trouble, send up red ones, ok?" Hagrid added before gesturing to Harry and Fay for them to head forwards. They obliged and drew their wands, heading slowly into the Forest.

The trees grew tall on the edge of the Forest, and as they entered it, the huge trees slowly gave way to a mix of smaller trees abound with undergrowth, an impenetrable canopy high above them. It was getting darker and darker, and harder to distinguish the trunks and undergrowth. Fang led the way, and the two students cautiously followed.

"Y'know, the whole spark thing is silly. How would Hagrid see sparks, let alone their colour? You'd have to set the whole Forest on fire if you wanted anyone to find you," Fay wondered aloud, before raising her wand and muttering "_Lumos_," a beam of light emerging from her wand and illuminated their path, as a torch. Harry copied her and they continued onwards through the gloomy undergrowth.

"Oooh, wait, stop!" she quickly yelped joyfully. To Harry's bemusement, she knelt down by a bush and drew a vial from her robes; she plucked a thin, golden hair from the thorns and gently put it in the vial, followed by many more strands before she stoppered the glass vessel and put it away in a pocket. As Harry looked at her quizzically, she smiled.

"Unicorn tail hairs. Good for wand cores, and hard to acquire; waste not, want not."

Harry sighed, then turned as Hagrid boomed behind them, leading Malfoy and Hermione their way.

"These two don't seem to be gettin' along, so we'll have to change things a little. Fay, you come with me, and Malfoy can go with you, Harry."

Harry sighed again and nodded, following Fang once more without looking back at the Slytherin, who slowly caught up, grumbling continuously – not that Harry actually paying any attention. They walked for a while longer, before emerging into a beautiful glade surrounded by deep undergrowth, save two well-tread trails at opposite sides. The late sunlight lit the clearing quite beautifully, a large patch of colourful wildflowers catching Harry's eye for a moment.

In the centre, in a slight, grassy dip lay a unicorn, silvery blood leaking from the gash in its side. A hooded, cloaked figure knelt by it, seeming to drink of the blood. Fang and Malfoy let out identical yelps of fear before running off the way they came, but Harry frowned as he raised his wand. The figure looked up at the Gryffindor, and the scar on Harry's forehead pierced with pain.

"Intriguing," the figure rasped, "_Harry Potter_."

The pain suddenly sharpened and Harry blacked out, though as his vision faded to darkness he could swear he saw the dark figure rushed by a dozen unicorns.

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"Harry Potter."

Harry awoke with a start to find himself face-to-face with a bearded man on horseback crouching over him

Make that a bearded _centaur_, bow and quiver strapped to the human portion of his naked back.

"Who are you?" Harry demanded, grasping for his wand on the floor, which he swiftly raised towards him, his mind racing to find a suitable self-defence spell, but the centaur raised his hands in a sign of peace.

"I mean you no harm. I am Firenze, and we must get you back to Hagrid before _it_ returns," the centaur murmured in a deep, mellow voice.

"What _was_ that?"

"It was something old, that which should never have returned yet somehow did... That was something terrible. It is a monstrous thing to kill a unicorn, and only one with nothing to lose would ever think to drink of the blood. The blood of a unicorn will sustain the drinker, even if they are on the threshold of death, yet the drinker shall only live a half-life thereon. It is a terrible, terrible crime, and one which is punished most severely, Harry Potter."

"Er, ok, so th-"

Harry was cut off as the centaur grabbed him by the scruff of his robes and tossed him onto his back, galloping off with no further ado, Harry struggling to stay on as the centaur dashed through the undergrowth. He couldn't deny that he was enjoying every second, but it was getting harder and harder to keep a grip on Firenze, until the centaur careered to a halt in a clearing that Harry could swear he recognised. However, they had come across two other centaurs.

"Firenze. Didn't know you'd stooped so low."

"I am only trying to help a human foal, Ronan; he came across that which has been murdering the unicorns," Firenze responded.

"Do you not have _any_ respect for our laws, Firenze?" the one named Ronan replied angrily, "First you suggest that both Redfang and Hightree wild goblin clans should be allowed free passage in our territory, then you debase yourself by carrying a human on your back instead of turning him back or killing him as law dictates!"

"I am currently turning Harry Potter back, to use your words. I am just making sure that such a young, innocent creature remains unharmed."

Ronan ignored Firenze and turned to Harry. "You have made a grave error by straying into our lands. Be thankful that Mars is bright, and violence to be discouraged, for otherwise I would strike you down where you stand. Or _sit_," he spat the last word at Firenze as if it were an insult, which it clearly seemed to be.

The third centaur seemed taken aback, and decided to intervene. "Ronan, I know we have our differences about astrology, but I still cannot understand your hatred for humans. _This_ generation has done nothing wrong, and you are as stupid and bloodthirsty as you believe _they _are if you think that they are the ones who should atone for their long-dead ancestors. Relax!"

"Remember your place, Bane. You too seem to be incapable of obeying our laws," Ronan growled, before turning to Firenze once again, "If you take this _wizard_ any further, I shall have you banished, and stripped of your name and place in our society."

"Back down, Ronan!" the centaur named Bane roared, "Remember _your_ place, before you exile _another_ good centaur; or better, before you give humankind a _good_ reason to declare war on us!"

Ronan was about to respond, before pausing to consider Bane's thoughts, and finally speaking calmly, "I concede. I apologise to you both for letting my fears get in the way of my judgment. But let it not be said that I am not keeping an eye on you, Firenze," he finished as he cantered away through the trees.

"Don't worry about that old git," Bane grinned at Harry, "Anyway, if I'm not mistaken, that's Hagrid and your fellow students on that ridge."

"We shall leave you here. Go forth, Harry Potter, and good luck to you," Firenze murmured as he helped the young wizard down from his back, before the two centaurs headed off in turn. Harry nodded at them as they went, and shot green sparks upwards, before lighting his wand so he didn't trip over anything on his way towards Hagrid and the others. It didn't take long for him to reach the ridge.

Malfoy stood quivering in fear, much to his amusement. Once Hagrid was happy that Harry was unharmed, and after asking a few quiet questions about what had happened, they set off for the castle, Hermione giving Harry that look of "I want to know everything" that was so characteristic of the young witch. There was no escape for him now.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

They got to the Christmas Feast just in time to see Ron polish off the remaining cake on the Gryffindor table. Luckily, Mandy had saved them some cake at the Ravenclaw table, and brought it over as Harry, Hermione and Fay finally dragged themselves into the Great Hall. Harry noted that the Hall was still quite full – most students left Hogwarts on Boxing Day to go home for the holidays. However, he also noted Neville's absence, but pushed it out of his mind as he thanked Mandy for the cake and sat at the table. It didn't take long for Hermione to begin grilling him as to why Malfoy had run off. Harry smiled as he spotted the Slytherin quivering in his little booties at his table, then spent the next few minutes quietly telling his friends what had happened.

"But who was the killer?" Hermione wondered.

"Don't ask Harry, he was too busy fainting," Ron snorted in between mouthfuls.

"Thanks Ron, you make me feel so much better about myself."

Fay changed the subject quite quickly, "What are your plans over the holidays?"

Ron shrugged, "I'm heading back to the Burrow, apparently my mum misses me." He jumped as he remembered something, which he didn't hesitate to share, "Hey, you guys said you'd come by my place for Quidditch at some point."

"Bummer, forgot about that," Harry sighed, "It's gonna have to be next holidays. I'm going home too."

"Lucky. I'll be stuck here for two weeks on my own," Mandy grumbled, not having heard Ron's suggestion.

"Don't worry Mandy, my parents are away on work, so I'll be here too!"

"Thanks Fay."

"What about you, 'Mione?" Ron munched.

"Same, I'm going to see my grandparents."

Harry tuned out the pleasantries, his mind speeding back to the mysterious unicorn-killer. How did he... _it_ know his name? He raised his hand to his scar, which still throbbed from the spike of pain he had felt in the Forest, and a memory flashed to his mind.

"_Now, come on down here, there's enough space for all of you," Quirrell said, turning on his heel to conjure wooden boards with a target painted on in black. At that moment, the scar on Harry's forehead twinged, which left him puzzled for a moment before he returned to reality..._

Eh?

The amateur dramatic in him was considering the idea that Quirrell was the one killing the that was impossible – for one, life wasn't a fantasy novel about a cute little wizard who went to a school for wizards and eventually went on to save the world from his nemesis who somehow returned from the dead. Then there was the fact that Quirrell was so incompetent he probably couldn't tell you how many horns a unicorn had. Huh.

As he saw Xan and Cy head out of the Hall, he realised he hadn't talked to either since the Quidditch match in November. He thought of heading after them, but came to the conclusion that bed was a tantalising prospect.

"Hey guys, I'm knackered. I'm gonna turn in. See y'all later," Harry waved as he left the table.

"See you Harry," Hermione replied, before continuing, "... but the Braking Charm is based upon a tier 3 ward..."

The Boy-Who-Lived headed slowly upstairs, his eyelids drooping even as he reached the Third floor. Voices in an unused corridor off to the side drew his attention, and curiosity tempted him into following.

Dumbledore was talking to Snape about something. He caught only a few words as he crept closer.

"...does Flamel even realise what you are doing?!"

"Nicholas knows that I'm using it as bait, yes. I have my suspicions as to who might be after it, Severus, but I cannot act until I know for sure. We need as much information as possible."

"I'm placing a lot of trust in you, Albus," Snape replied, "But I cannot help but voice my doubts. This is not going to end well, mark my words. I'd bet twenty Galleons that a student will come across the Cerberus by accident, or even intentionally. A three-headed dog is very hard to conceal in a castle such as Hogwarts."

That was when Harry realised he was in the so-called _Forbidden Corridor_, and began to edge towards the staircase once again. However, the conversation had continued.

"I take your bet, Severus, as I feel quite sure that Hogwarts is up to the task of keeping her secrets. Twenty Galleons it is. Now, I shall go check on Hagrid, to see if he can confirm as to who our imposter is, as it seems that Harry Potter of all students came across his unicorn killer. Good night, Severus."

"Good night, Albus."

Harry's eyes widened in fear as the two professors converged on his location. He tried the nearest door, which was locked. His mind flashed back to Halloween, when Hermione unlocked a door in the girls' toilets, and the incantation sprang to mind.

"_Alohomora_!" Be it luck or skill, the spell worked despite Harry's bad approximation of the wand movement. He threw himself through the doorway and shut the door as Dumbledore strode past.

He let out a breath of relief, before turning to inspect the room and its contents. It was a simple room, cubic in shape and dimensions, with a trapdoor in the centre and what looked like a huge magical canine with three he-

"You _gotta_ be kidding me."

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Severus Snape sat back in his office chair and uncorked a vial of Draught of Relaxation, pouring it into a handily-placed glass. He conjured a large ice cube, shredding it into shards with a casual weak Reductor Curse and set his feet up on the desk with a contented sigh. He could get used to the holidays – a lot of free time to research, and no need to get up early in the mornings. He grinned and Summoned the book he was reading, _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer_, and pulled out the bookmark where he'd left it.

There came a tapping on the window. This normally would have been illogical, since he was in a dungeon, but Severus' office was in a part of the dungeon that was exposed, being built into the side of a cliff (he quite liked the possibility of the breeze an open window offered). He opened said window with a wave of his wand and a school owl swooped in to deposit a letter, before taking off once again and leaving. Severus got up and closed the window – this time without magic – and slit the envelope open with a precisely aimed spell to reveal a letter written in vaguely familiar writing.

_Professor Snape,_

_Dumbledore owes you twenty Galleons. I found the Cerberus._

_Sincerely,  
A Student_

The Potions professor read the note several times, it not seeming to sink in, as his face flickered with a variety of strange expressions. Once he'd understood, however, it didn't take him long to reach Dumbledore's office to collect the debt, an uncharacteristic grin lighting up his features.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

**AN: **This chapter has been the most difficult to write so far. Damn near impossible.  
I had considered making it longer, but thought that that was a good ending :)

Additional: This has been waiting a _long_ time to be posted? Here it is, at long last.


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